


Death Upon Death Upon Death

by tessercat (nekonexus)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Ending, FrostIron - Freeform, M/M, Science Boyfriends, flowchart, impermanent death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekonexus/pseuds/tessercat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's a puzzle that Tony needs to solve. He'll get the chance, but it will be on Loki's terms. And the God of Mischief is playing the long game, for reasons that the Avengers may never determine. But damned if that stops them from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strike Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Before the title and the MC death tag scare you off, let me just point out that in this fic, death is not a permanent state. It is, however, all right up front in this first chapter. To say anything else would be an actual spoiler.
> 
> This is a multi-chapter fic. I have up to about chapter 10 done, but it's not finished. Fair warning. 
> 
> Warning: contains swearing (c'mon, it's Tony), and some brief smut. 
> 
> Dedicated to the hoars over at LSG who've kept the thread going for months now, and especially to [shout-cast](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyracantha) for the encouragement and Tumblr shenanigans. You all rock.

Of course it was the arc reactor that saved him. It always was, right? A terrible privilege to keep living, courtesy of a technology so advanced it was next to magic in most people's eyes.

So yeah. That. 

"This usually works," Loki says, tapping the wickedly sharp tip of his scepter against the center of Tony's chest again.

"Well, you know. Performance issues," Tony quips, because it's what he does. And because it's ALSO what he does, he's noting that Loki - for reasons he can't even begin to parse at this point - is not upset about this. In fact, if anything, Tony'd say the demi-god is _amused_ that he's been thwarted. 

So Tony's talking, but he's also trying to calculate what is means, and he dearly wants to ask Jarvis for his opinion (threat assessment? likelihood of survival? gimme something to work with here), but doesn't quite dare. 

And then Loki's hand is around his throat and by god - or, you know, whatever - this is a terribly inefficient way to try to kill him. He's seen Loki zap people right out of existence with his glowing blue stick of destiny, so what is Tony Stark to him that he takes a hands-on approach? 

He lands hard, but Loki seems to be in no hurry, so Tony takes his time getting back to his feet. Stalling. "Jarvis, any time now."

Tony Stark doesn't believe in unsolvable puzzles and, bag of cats crazy or not, Loki is, put simply, a cipher. A walking, talking Enigma machine. He's not acting like he wants to win this war. Like he really wants to subjugate the planet. His actions are the keys to a code Tony needs to break before--

Time's up. Loki's got him by the throat again. He's lifted higher this time; Tony's feet dangle and kick ineffectually. 

"You will all fall before me," Loki snarls. 

And there's a rippling, crunching crack that Tony feels more than hears.

And then nothing.

#

He's tumbling across the floor of the penthouse again, breathless, shaking, unable to process what the hell just happened. Unable to speak the words he's hearing in his head.

Loki hauls him to his feet. Again. "You will all fall before me," Loki snarls, and hurls him away. 

Okay, no. Throwing him out a window is also really not a winning move on Loki's part. Because he is not hitting the ground. No way, no how. He has fallen out of the sky too fucking many times to count. Best option: Jarvis and the Mark-VII will save his ass (he trusts, deeply, instinctively, because this is how it works, for fuck's sake) or someone (Thor's probably his best bet) will catch him, or... something. Something will break his fall. Somehow. Because Tony-shaped-smear on the sidewalk is not a fucking option. 

And at the same time he's still trying to figure it out, because it is fucking bugging him. Like an itch in the brain. What is Loki trying to do? Martyr him? Yeah, right. That shit's gonna go down real well. Nobody's gonna rally around Tony fucking Stark's death. It'd just be proving Cap's point: take the suit away and he is _nothing_.

Above him, he hears/feels a _whump_. A concussion of air imploding and metal exploding and his heart sinks straight down into his gut and makes him nauseous.

He can't form words. The wind would tear them from him anyway. It doesn't matter. The ground's rushing up to meet him, impossibly fast and hard, and no-one's there to save him. There's no miracle waiting for him.

Only the impact. A flash of pain so intense the world burns white --

#

And he's tumbling across the floor of the penthouse again, gulping down air, trying to unlock death-tight muscles. 

Loki hauls him to his feet. Again. Tony can't even bring himself to brace against the motion, can't fight back, can't do anything but lean on his enemy. His brain is stuttering along, glitching in and out ( _I was dead... broken neck. Hit ground. Dead twice. Can't be a dream..._ ) and he knows he should be taking advantage of this moment, this chance to break the cycle, but he can't form the words.

"This is the true power of the Chitauri," Loki says, his voice low and rough. 

Tony's got both hands wrapped around Loki's arm in a death-grip. Hell, he'd crawl into Loki's pocket if he could. But talking is good. Talking means he's not dead. Not flying through a window again. Tony's good at talking his way out of things... if only he could kick-start his brain.

"This is what they would do to you: death after death after death, until you cease caring for anything. Until you wish you could just die and be done with it. Be quit of them." Loki sets him on his feet, loosening his grip slightly. 

Tony sucks in air. Swallows hard. Still can't speak.

"They would hunt you to the ends of the universe," Loki continues, "Unless you serve them. Offer them some more interesting prey."

"You," Tony manages. Loki's fingers flex and relax against his throat. "They did this to you. That's why --" He clears his throat, slides one hand slowly up Loki's arm to curl around Loki's wrist. 

Loki smiles, faintly, and damned if Tony doesn't know that smile. 

"What do you want?" he asks, because he can't seem to stop himself from bargaining with the devil, ever, even though this one's not in a bottle.

Loki's hand runs up his neck to cup his jaw, tenderly. The heel of his hand brushes against Tony's goatee. And for a heartbeat, Tony finds him ridiculously, irresistibly, straight to the crotch, _fuck me now_ , attractive.

"Help me."

Tony blinks at him. "I'm sorry. What?"

Loki's teeth flash in a sharp, bitter smile. "You heard me."

He inhales. Exhales. Tries to ignore the thumb caressing his cheek. "I thought I wasn't supposed to appeal to your humanity."

"Let's not go that far back, shall we?" Loki says. For a fleeting moment, he looks annoyed. "No threatening, either. You've not proved terribly good at it."

He has a point, Tony has to admit. "So instead we have what? Me helping you. My enemy." Tony shakes his head, surprised that Loki lets him. "Give me the tesseract and I'll--"

"Oh, no. Not that." Loki sighs. "I am disappointed."

Behind Loki, the lights over the bar flash in a colour-coded sequence. Tony blinks at them, watches the sequence repeat, and relaxes. Jarvis may not be willing to speak, but he's not silent by any means.

"Interview's over," he says to Loki. "I've got a world to save. Jarvis, de--"

Loki's hand clamps tight over his mouth. Long fingers dig bruising deep into his jaw. Bone grinds against bone, Tony's teeth squeak together, but he has the presence of mind to try hand-signals at least. 

Loki's scepter flashes, razor-sharp, and for a second, Tony doesn't even register the pain. But there's blood gushing from the stump of his right wrist and his jaw shatters beneath the pressure of Loki's hand and the world burns white, then black, again. 

"Don't make me do this," Loki says. Like it's hurting him. He lowers Tony to the floor, crouching on his heels beside him. "I could leave you here, to bleed to death amidst your technology. Let your friends find the wreckage you have made and become. But it would serve no purpose."

Tony can't stop the horrible gurgling whimpering noises he's making, but with a supreme effort, he manages to get his left hand locked around his right wrist, applying enough pressure to slow the tide. But there's blood filling his mouth, leaking down into his lungs, and he knows it's a losing battle.

"We want the same things, Tony Stark," Loki continues, his voice low and soothing. "Midgard free of the Chitauri. The tesseract out of reach of those who would be tempted by it." He strokes cool fingers across Tony's forehead. "To protect the ones we love." 

He's fading fast, but the others must be close. Any second now, someone should blast Loki out of the way. 

Seconds tick by, empty. Wasted.

"Help me," Loki says. "Work with me, and I shall ensure you live a long life and die in glorious battle, as befits a warrior-king such as you."

Tony doesn't care about that, though he can see why Loki would think it the perfect offer. What matters is that he can't stop Loki's insanity if he's dead. So dead is not an option.

He looks into Loki's eyes, sees the burn of distant stars gone super-nova, and nods.

#

Loki smiles, faintly, and damned if Tony doesn't know that smile. 

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, because he can't seem to stop himself from bargaining with the devil, ever. And this is the only out he can find. His mouth still tastes of phantom blood. His wrist throbs below the homing bracelet.

"You're the clever one, Stark. Figure it out." Loki's hand runs up his neck to cup his jaw, tenderly. The heel of his hand brushes against Tony's goatee. 

Tony's stomach churns. "That," he says, risking a half-step back, "Would be easier if you hadn't flat-lined my brain. Three times now."

Loki lowers his hand. "There is still a death waiting for you, _Iron Man_. And I don't mean the one in your chest."

Tony closes his eyes for a heartbeat. "You want me to defeat the Chitauri."

"Yes."

"And not destroy the tesseract."

"Yes."

He swallows. "And?" Three deaths, so there must be three things Loki wants. That's how these stories go, isn't it? He's not up on mythological tropes. Needs to remedy that. Later. After.

"That is the puzzle you must solve."

Tony frowns at him. "You realize this sounds like a lousy bargain on your part? My life for a puzzle?"

Loki just smiles, brightly, madly, with all the blind trust of a child. "Win this one for me, Stark. Whatever it takes. Then solve the puzzle."

"Fine," Tony says. ( _Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and exhausted: great way to start a war!_ ) "Let's do this already."

Loki's smile becomes a wicked grin, and this time, he's laughing as he hauls Tony off his feet.

And then there's glass shattering around him again, shards embedding themselves in his skin and he's aware they're only going to get driven deeper by the near constant series of impacts he's bound to take in the upcoming fight. Tiny sharp objects seem to have an unholy need to get under his skin. And it's a small thing, but it's the thing his brain has fixated on even as he's shouting "deploy, deploy!" and waiting for the Mark-VII to catch up.

Better that than thinking about the impact, or the promise he's made to Loki.

The wind is blinding and sharp, shredding tears from his eyes. This time, though, this time, everything works like it's supposed to. Like Loki promised it would. The Mark-VII wraps itself around him, Iron Man saving Tony Stark's sorry ass one more time, and he's back in the game.

Loki, though. Loki's still up there, on top of _Tony's_ tower. Watching. Orchestrating. 

_Win this one for me, Stark. Whatever it takes._

Tony flies back up to the penthouse and hovers there for a moment. Loki blows him a kiss.

He must be crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter titles are song lyrics.  
> "Strike Me Down" ~ Lightning Field by the Sneaker Pimps.


	2. Picking Up the Pieces

After the battle, though. After Tony's been to space and back (flew a nuke through a fucking wormhole. can you believe that shit?) and through near-death and back -- (he owes the Other Guy, big time, even if he knew, gut-deep where he trusts Jarvis, that Bruce would be there for him - as long as Loki didn't interfere - and that's _another_ equation he needs to solve, but not just yet) -- _after_ all that, he's staring down at Loki, and the cocky bastard is not at all defeated, not even pretending to be broken, even staring up the length of Hawkeye's arrow (and Hawkeye's not gonna miss, not ever, when it comes to Loki), he's just...

He scans their faces, but it's Tony he fixes on, Tony he appeals to. For that damn drink. Like he deserves it. Like he's won. Step one, check. ( _Congratulations: answer = 42_ , Tony's brain says. But _how_? he asks himself. Or, more importantly, _why_?) 

_That was the plan,_ he remembers Loki saying.

Piss them all off. That was the plan. Or part of the plan, at any rate. 

This is important: he needs these pieces to solve Loki's puzzle. But fucked if Tony can line them up right now. He needs time, and probably a long conversation with Jarvis, and some sleep to let the pattern recognition part of his brain chew on it. 

"I will take Loki and the tesseract back to Asgard. It is not safe for it to remain here," Thor says, managing to sound noble and self-sacrificing in his grand pronouncement. 

"No," Tony says. Everyone - well, everyone except Barton, who's not taking his eyes off Loki - turns to look at him like he's just divided by zero. ... Or turned into a Chitauri. Or something. "At least, not yet," he amends, as his brain catches up with the outside conversation. "We need time to study it. Figure out how to make it usable without tearing holes in the universe. Unless you've found some other way to get back home that you haven't told us about, Dorothy?"

Thor looks puzzled, but shakes his head. 

"Who's we?" Natasha asks. 

Tony looks at the Other Guy. "Bruce and I, of course," he says, because that part is fucking obvious. 

"Not SHIELD," Barton says, like he needs Tony to spell it out for him. He's still got an arrow nocked and aimed at Loki's eye, but there's a twitch - or maybe a tremor - trying to work its way down his arm.

Maybe Tony does need to state the obvious. Just this once - because they're all too damn tired to think straight. 

"Definitely not SHIELD," Tony agrees, and everyone relaxes. "Can we, like, hand-cuff this guy, or something?"

"Bondage gear," Barton says. "The good kind - real leather."

Tony wants to laugh, but he knows if he starts, he won't stop. 

Natasha slaps Barton lightly across the back of the head. "You just want an excuse to go shopping, Barton," she says. "Save it." 

Thor looks aghast, then thoughtful, and then he's providing a list of materials they need to make a proper binding for the sorcerer and liar sometimes known as his brother. And Jarvis announces an incoming call from Pepper, and everything is about thirty seconds away from collapsing into post-combat chaos (including the Other Guy, who is starting to look decidedly less than green), and Tony really, really wishes - just this once - that Coulson was there to clean up the mess they've made.

The thought stabs him hard enough that it registers as a physical pain, sharper than the assortment of bruises and scrapes (and worse) he's collected. Sharp as the memory of three deaths spent here, at Loki's hands. He actually makes a fist, although he manages to stop short of stepping past Barton to clock Loki. 

Unconscious might be a better state for the trouble-making asshole, but Tony probably can't hit him hard enough to make it happen.

You have people for this, Stark, he reminds himself. So Jarvis takes Thor's list and starts allocating manpower and resources, and Tony answers Pepper's call (and sends Fury's to voicemail hell), and Steve arranges some kind of rotating guard on Loki despite Thor's insistence that it his duty and his alone, and Natasha and Clint start bickering about the best knots for restraints.

In short, they sort themselves out.

#

It's a little less than twelve hours later (eight of which Tony spent sleeping... well, mostly sleeping... inbetween waking up from nightmares) that Tony manages to draw Thor away from Loki-guard-duty to have a little heart-to-heart. Steve takes over, silently, and that's the first Tony's seen of any of the others today. It's not like anyone's avoiding anyone else, exactly, but even if they are more team than timebomb at this point, they all need space to unwind. Except Thor, apparently, because he's been brooding outside Loki's prison cell in the basement of the tower since late last night, regardless of who was on actual assignment. 

"Tell me about your brother," Tony says to Thor, when they're alone and in a room above ground level. 

Thor shrinks a little at that, and then squares his shoulders. Like a warrior preparing for battle. "It is kind of you to be concerned, but truly, it is a family matter."

"Yeah, no," Tony says. "Your 'family matter' nearly destroyed my planet, and literally trashed half my city. And my tower. So spill. What's Loki's problem? Bad reaction to the whole 'hey, you're adopted' thing? Or were you joking about that?"

Thor looks at him, temper flaring, then looks away and takes a deep breath. And when he starts talking, Tony shuts up and _listens_ , because this is important. This is data he needs to absorb. He still has a puzzle to solve and he's pretty sure Loki's brother holds several big pieces.

And you know, Tony Stark knows a thing or two about bad parenting and fucked up families.

This story, this family? It's fucked up. He can tell Thor's trying not to be too hard on Odin, but even so, even with just the facts, that is some class-A parenting fail. 

"Genocide," Tony says, "To prove a point." Given what he's experienced at Loki's hands, he's not surprised, not exactly. Loki's moral compass has apparently been misaligned for some time. 

"To prove himself worthy of being king." Thor nods, miserably. "The Jotun are ancient enemies of the Aesir. We were raised to believe they were monsters, that Odin had been wise and merciful in defeating them but not utterly destroying them."

"Do you treat all of the other realms that way? As inferior?"

Thor's expression tightens. "Midgard is under my protection." 

That's not what he meant, but Tony can tell he's not going to get a better answer. Rubbing one hand across his face, he sighs. "Yeah, well. I can see how finding out he's a 'monster' would mess a kid up."

"He was not a child," Thor says, tensing.

"No, I get that. But you..." He stops, looks at Thor, then stares off into the distance, doing some rough calculations. "Time in Asgard - not the same as time here on Midgard?"

"What do you mean?"

"How old _are_ you?" Tony prods. "In human... mortal? ... Midgardian years."

Thor frowns at him. "How many of your years has it been since the Frost Giants threatened to encase Midgard in ice?"

"Jarvis?" he asks. "Cross-reference Norse mythology and Scandinavian history."

_"Calculating, sir. ... It is likely that one thousand and forty-seven years have passed since the date implied."_

Tony blinks. "Congrats. Older than Capsicle, and even stronger. ... Don't tell him I said that."

"You jest--"

"I do. Often. Bad habit. But seriously - that'd be about nine or ten really long lifetimes for us. But you guys don't think that's old at all, do you?"

Thor shakes his head. "Nay. I am but a young man in my prime. And Loki is only somewhat younger than I."

Tony leans back in his chair, reminding himself not to rub at his jaw. There's nothing actually wrong with it. Thinking about Loki pulls the background headache he's been ignoring into the foreground. He squinches his eyes and rubs at one temple. 

"Loki is... beyond reason," Thor says. "He is not unlike a wounded animal, nursing his pain, biting the hand that would offer kindness. I... I do not know what changed him."

_Death upon death upon death._

Tony stops himself from saying, _I do._ He can't explain, can't let anyone even begin to guess what happened. So he keeps his uncharacteristic silence. Thor's not really paying attention to him anyway. He's brooding again, staring off into the distance, or the past.

"He claims I tossed him into the abyss," Thor says, almost as a coda to the long tale. "I remember... he chose to let go."

That is an interesting data point, Tony thinks. Getting to his feet, he lays a hand on Thor's shoulder for a moment. The blond demi-god looks up at him in surprise. "Would you forgive him?" Tony asks.

"Of course," Thor says without hesitation. "He is my brother."

Tony nods, not surprised. "Then we'll figure out how to extract the cats." And he leaves before Thor can find words to answer.

Walking to the elevator, he wonders if that's Loki's puzzle: figure out how to make him sane again. "Interplanetary psychotherapy 101," he mutters. Not that it's a _bad_ idea, exactly. But cultural context is a big issue, and anyone who might _get_ it is probably going to have hang-ups about psycho-analyzing a god turned super-villain.

"Jarvis?" he says, as the elevator whisks him back up the tower. "Find me a Norse theologist, a therapist who might specialize in superheroes, and uh, see if Dr. Selvig is available for consultation or if he wants to stay off the grid."

_"Yes, sir."_

"Take your time." 

Slumping back against the wall, Tony yawns and wonders if he should try sleeping again. But when he closes his eyes, Loki smiles hungrily at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title lyric: "Picking Up the Pieces"  
> from _The Morning After_ by Rawlins Cross.


	3. Your Science is Breaking My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a link to TV Tropes in this chapter. Click at your own peril.

"We need to run a simulation," Tony says to the empty lab. He's not seeing the pattern yet. Nothing's making any sense, and he's running out of time to solve it before they're ready to ship Thor and Loki back to Asgard. Bruce, Jane, and Erik have been hard at work, even if Tony hasn't been helping as much as he maybe should. Loki's puzzle's been eating at him.

Not that he _needs_ to solve the puzzle, really. He doesn't really believe there's any way Loki could kill him at this point. He just can't stop worrying at it. 

_"Parameters, sir?"_

"War game. Pull everything SHIELD's got on Loki's invasion and round it out with our data." He gets to his feet, gestures to pull a battlefield map out of the displays and into a wrap-around hologram. 

_"Rules of engagement?"_

"Well, it's sure as hell not Settlers of Catan," Tony mutters, although some of the classic board games did do a pretty good job of capturing tactics and could give Jarvis something to work with that wasn't literal history. "RISK, maybe. Or some iteration of Civilization. Scan for similar conquest patterns." 

Data scrolls by. The helicarrier pops into position. One pane of the map rotates and zooms in on New Mexico, another on New York, and a third on Stuttgart. Jarvis puts the pieces in play, and they run through the scenarios a dozen times. Each time, they eliminate a set of variables, narrowing the focus, the players, the pool of potential outcomes. But none of it is clicking. None of it is doing what Tony expects.

He wipes the projections clean with one hand. "This isn't working."

_"Apologies, sir."_

"Not your fault. I think we're not coming at this from the right angle."

_"Perhaps chess?"_

"Mm, no. Close, but not quite." He runs through the data sets again, looking for a solution that might take into account even some of Loki's crazy. Nothing logical is going to predict the end game for a sorcerer from another planet.

... _sorcerer_. Yeah. That. Or, you know, sufficiently advanced technology of the Asgardian type. He can buy that easier than magic.

"D and D," he says. 

_"Pardon?"_

"Dungeons and Dragons. He's not playing chess, because that assumes he's playing against someone who can counter-attack. His plan is more like a dungeon master: we're players he's keeping in the dark. It doesn't really matter _to him_ what we do - it only changes what happens _to us_."

Jarvis starts re-running the simulations with the new configuration. It helps - certain variables start adding to the equation instead of just complicating it - but it's still not _right_. A half-hour later, it's starting to _really_ frustrate Tony that they can't make it work. Even throwing out the models and just running the data, it doesn't make _sense_. There's no logic to it.

"There's a basic flaw in your assumptions," Bruce says. 

Tony blinks at him, wondering how long he's been standing in the lab, and why Jarvis didn't see fit to announce him. "I'm making an ass out of you and me?"

Bruce's lips quirk in what might be a smile. "No, but Loki is."

The pieces go _click, click, click_ into place. And on the one hand he's annoyed, because why the fuck does he need outside input to nudge his brain into gear so damn much right now? And on the other...? Tony tips his head to one side, blinks, and says, "Son of a bitch."

Hands in pockets, Bruce just arches an eyebrow at him. 

"He didn't care if he won," Tony says. "No. Worse. He didn't care because he couldn't not win. Jarvis?" His fingers dance in the air, rearranging the pieces, the players, the game board. Rewriting the scenario. It plays in fast-forward, Jarvis running the simulation almost too fast for the human eye to track. 

And when it's done, a flow-chart pops up. 

Tony and Bruce stare at it. 

"Does this look right to you?" Tony finally asks. 

"If by right, you mean accurate, yes." Bruce puts his glasses on and leans in to read a trail of code.

"Mother fucker," Tony spits. "I'M the genius! If anyone's going to be pulling a [Xanatos Gambit](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/XanatosGambit) around here, it should be me!"

If this is the puzzle Loki wanted him to solve... it doesn't make sense. Loki's already covered all his bases. He didn't need to fuck with Tony Stark to make any of these outcomes occur. So _why_?

"I am going to kill him," Tony growls. 

"Tony."

"Go all Highlander on his ass and chop his fucking head off if I have to!"

"That's not going to go over well with Thor."

"FUCK Thor!" Tony throws out his hands, scattering the simulation and the results into nothingness. "Fuck him and his manipulative lying bastard of a brother. Fuck them all OFF MY PLANET."

Bruce waits, glasses dangling between thumb and forefinger, while Tony rages uselessly around the lab. There's nothing he's actually willing to let himself break, short of a couple of coffee mugs, and he's not so far gone as to put a fist through a wall. 

"Are you done?" Bruce asks, when Tony reaches a standstill on the far side of the room. "Because there's two things you might want to consider here."

Tony pivots on his heel and snaps his fingers. "Big bag of weed. That'd be a great help right now. Share?"

"Sorry, left mine in my other suit." Bruce shakes his head. "Jarvis? Please book a physical for Tony so we can check for brain damage from cosmic radiation."

"Oh, _come on_ , Bruce," Tony whines. But he doesn't actually countermand him.

"The simulation you just destroyed - which I assume Jarvis saved?"

_"Yes, of course, Dr. Banner."_

Bruce nods. "Well. There's a scenario not accounted for. Or at least there was when you interrupted it."

"...what?"

"Maybe you don't want to see it." Bruce shrugs. Folding the arms of his glasses down, he tucks them back in his shirt pocket. "I don't know. I'm not convinced you're thinking all that clearly, Tony, and that's dangerous. We need you sharp."

"Did you come in here just to lecture me?" Tony asks, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. He can't quite decide if he's pissed off at Bruce, or just residually angry at everything.

"Is that what you're hearing?" Bruce ducks his head and sighs. "Jesus, Tony, you do need your head checked. No, I came to tell you I think we've solved the equation."

Tony just stares at him.

"We can send them home," Bruce adds, as gently as if he's talking to a small, frightened child.

"Shit." Tony regroups, fast, because that changes things. "Preliminary results? Or are you sure?"

Bruce relaxes, visibly relieved at Tony's renewed focus. "Preliminary. Simulations. Needs another day of testing at least, and then we'll need to do a small field trial." He smiles. "Send a mouse to Asgard or something."

"Watermelon," Tony says, grinning. "Always start with a watermelon."

"I dunno... either way, introducing foreign species is usually a bad idea."

"Yeah, but at least the watermelon isn't mobile." Tony claps his hands together. "Okay. Let's get on that, then. Let me clean up here and then I'll join you."

Bruce nods, but glances at the lab, which doesn't actually appear to need Tony's attention. "Okay. But I'm gonna have Jarvis ping you if you don't show within the hour."

"Fine."

Bruce leaves, and Tony collapses into a chair. He holds his hands up, noting the slight tremble with an impassive gaze. 

"What did I miss?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

_"Sir?"_

Running his left index finger under the bracelet on his right wrist, he tries to blink away the memory of a bleeding stump. Clearing his throat, Tony squares his shoulders. "Is he right? Bruce, I mean."

_"Yes, sir. There was a further outcome that was not correctly rendered. I apologize for the delay in data aggregation."_

"What..." He has to stop and clear his throat again. "What is it?"

_"Loki remains on Earth."_

Tony's hand tightens around his wrist. His jaw and neck ache, fiercely. "Son of a bitch," he mutters.

He needs to talk to Loki. And that? Is going to be a little bit difficult.

But first he has to check on the tesseract and convince Bruce he's okay.

#

"How's your jaw?" Bruce asks.

They've been reviewing the code for the simulation for about half an hour, and most of Tony's brain is taken up by elegant equations and quantum mechanics and string theory and wormholes. Selvig refused to stay in the tower, but forwarded his notes and research, and Jane Foster's been working remote on some of the same problems, so the process is far less painful than Tony thought it might be. Everything's coming together nicely and even if it's too fast for Tony's liking, he can't complain about it.

"Uh, fine?" Tony replies, almost a minute later. He taps the display, rotates the view, slides a power bar up to increase the simulated load. "Why?"

"You've been rubbing it a lot."

"Oh." Tony runs his fingers up his jaw-line, pretends to find something worth poking at, and shrugs. "Ingrown hair. No big. Couple hot compresses and it'll sort itself out."

Bruce glances sideways at him. "Unhunh. Okay."

They work for several more minutes, tossing ideas and comments back and forth as they test the simulation. 

"And your wrist?"

"What?" Tony looks down from the monitor he's been studying and finds his traitorous left hand curled around his right wrist, just below the homing bracelet. He frowns, shakes his fingers loose, and rolls his wrist. It pops and clicks - small bones rubbing against each other - and he offers it to Bruce for inspection. "Just a bit locked up. Must've slept on it wrong or something."

"Mmhm." Bruce watches his face, not his wrist, for a long moment, then turns his attention back to the screen. "You know, you're allowed to take down time. Rest and heal up. There's no shame in admit--"

"Stop. Right there. I'm fine. The suit takes all - okay, most, definitely most - of the impact. I've slept, I've eaten, I'm good to go, okay doc?"

Bruce turns to face him directly and folds his arms across his chest. "No, not really."

Tony refuses to look away from the monitor. "Who died and made you my personal physician, Bruce?"

"Your doctor."

That gets his attention. "What?"

Bruce shrugs one shoulder. "Okay, not dead. He retired. Pepper asked me to--"

"He wasn't any older than I am!"

"Early retirement. It happens, Tony."

"Ugh." Shaking his head, Tony steps sideways to check the results on another display. "So you're my doctor and my teammate now? Great."

"Yeah, I wouldn't trust me, either," Bruce mutters. 

"Hey, no. That's not the problem," Tony protests, turning to face him again. "I trust you, all right? You saved my ass--"

"That was the Other Guy."

"You _showed up_. I trusted you to do that. We would have lost without you."

Bruce shrugs, curling in on himself a little. "The Other Guy," he insists. 

"Do I need to get out the pointy objects again?" Tony mock threatens. He looks around, but there's nothing to hand. "Because seriously. Package deal. I get that. Me and the suit, you and the Other Guy. That's how it works. Right?"

Bruce kind of peers at him, sideways, then jerks his head in abrupt nod. "Right." And then he's moving, swinging an arm out to give Tony a friendly tap on the shoulder.

Tony dodges, reflexively. 

"That right there," Bruce says, sharp and inquisitive, all traces of self-pity gone. "That is a problem. Pepper says you haven't let anyone touch you - including her - since the fight."

"Bullshit," Tony protests, but it's weak, because he knows Bruce is actually right. He thought he was doing it rather deftly, but Pepper... well. Of course she'd notice. Even if she'd said she was perfectly okay with him asking to have the bed to himself for the night. 

"Jarvis?" Bruce holds Tony's gaze.

"Hey. Abuse of privileges! That's not why I gave you access!"

_"Yes, Dr. Banner?"_

"Override, Jarvis. It's fine. You booked that appointment for me, right?"

_"Of course, Master Stark."_

"Then we're good, right Bruce?"

Bruce sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Just answer me this, Tony: are you in pain?"

Tony knows his smile is bitter, but he can't stop it. "Every day of my life, doc. Degree of pain, though? Nothing more than the usual at the moment."

"And you'll tell me if that changes?"

"Yes." Tony holds up one hand, curling all but his pinky finger down. "Pinky swear?"

He doesn't think Bruce is gonna go for it, but Bruce surprises him yet again. He hooks their pinkies together, holding Tony's gaze.

"You are ridiculous."

Tony grins. "But you love me that way."

The sound Bruce makes is affirmative, and there might be words buried in it, but Tony lets him off the hook. This time.

"Can we get back to work now?" 

"Yeah," Bruce says. "I think we need another failsafe on the bandwidth subroutine. I really don't want the portal flaring wider than necessary."

"Let's have a look, then." Tony pivots to face the monitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric: "Your Science is Breaking My Heart"  
> from _Science_ by David Usher.


	4. People Are Fragile Things

The conversations with Bruce make Tony realize he's been avoiding thinking analytically about what happened. He's built a blindspot for himself. Disconnected, as much as he can, from the memory of what Loki did to him. And yes, hello again PTSD, and yes, therapy yeah he'll get right on that, and yes, he knows better than this. But he's never been good at seeing his own patterns. So when Bruce finally calls a break for food, Tony heads for the elevator and a change of scenery.

"Jarvis - clear the penthouse. I want everybody - and I do mean everybody, no exceptions - out before I get there."

_"Sir... Ms. Potts has requested that you not disrupt the schedule for the construction work--"_

"I know. Send her an apology and fix the schedule. I need that space to myself."

_"For how long?"_

Tony checks his watch. It's nearly six already, which means the crew should be knocking off shortly anyway, except that he's fairly certain Pepper gave them license to work 'til eight. "Couple hours. Tell the crew to come back tomorrow."

_"Very well."_

There's a moment of silence. Tony stares at the elevator door, letting the thoughts that are tickling the back of his mind percolate. 

_"Master Stark, Ms. Potts wishes to express her displeasure at the liberties you are taking with the jointly-agreed upon scheduling."_

Tony nods absently. "Yeah, yeah, that's why I apologized up front. I'm a bad boy, I know. She can take it out on me later."

Jarvis continued as if he hadn't spoken: _"She hopes that you are not going to waste your 88% control of resources this evening on something so reprehensible--"_

"Reprehensible? She said that? She must be really pissed."

_"--and irresponsible as becoming alcohol-enstupidated."_

"Enstupuh-what? That's ridiculous. That's not even a word. There's nothing wrong with 'drunk', you know. Or 'intoxicated' if you must. 'Over the legal limit' in certain situations, none of which apply here." 

The elevator stops, the doors slide open silently, and Tony steps out into the penthouse, which is, thankfully, empty. 

"And no, Jarvis, I am not... Tell Ms. Potts she may rest assured that I am not planning to drink myself stupid. She should be thankful that I am not the type of guy to take unexpected extended roadtrips -- finding me and a car gone for a week should worry her far more than me asking for a couple of hours privacy in my own home!" 

Rubbing one hand over his face and eyeing the bar, Tony sighs. "Delete that last bit, will you?"

_"How much of it, sir?"_

"Everything after stupid." He turns resolutely away from the temptation and walks to the window. "Just tell her I'm sorry, I need to think, and the lab's not doing it for me right now."

_"Very well."_

Silence again. Tony paces around the room, considers walking out to the landing pad, and something in his gut squirms uncomfortably. Agoraphobia is not an option. He lets himself off the hook with the thought that he doesn't need to prove anything to himself just yet. There's time to walk that tightrope later.

He should be in the workroom, really. The Mark-VI and VII both need extensive repairs. He's got design schematics to finish for the VIII. Test plans to create. Mockups and wireframes to tinker with, data streams in the HUD to refine. Recommendations from Jarvis's threat assessments to consider. Work enough to keep him busy for months.

And yet here he stands, alone, worrying at... what? What is it even? 

A promise. He knows better than to make promises - pinky swears with Bruce aside.

_"Incoming call from Captain Rogers."_

"Send to queue," Tony says shortly. "In fact, did I not make that clear? I do not want to be disturbed. No calls, no messages, no reminders, nothing. I don't care if the helicarrier is about to crash into the tower... Okay, no. I would actually care about that. But anything short of imminent death and destruction is to be routed to voicemail, okay?"

_"As you wish, sir."_

"Lock the doors and the lifts. And make sure Barton and Romanov don't get within ten floors of me without my hearing about it first - that's an exception to the no distractions rule, all right?"

_"Yes, sir."_

Turning on the desktop display, he pulls up the security feeds he wants (they don't exist, officially, even Jarvis is only aware of them when Tony lets him be, because there's a conflict of interest there - Avengers security versus Tony's personal security - that he needs to rewrite the code for) and spreads them out in the open space as wireframed projections. He doesn't need full rendering for this. 

_"Sir...?"_

"What?" 

_"I... seem to be missing some protocols for the particulars of the situation you have requested. I do not have a comprehensive response strategy for your personal security at this particular moment. You have created... That is not accusation. Parameters are missing. Should I be... worried?"_

Taking his hands off the display, Tony twists the bracelets on his wrists. "Now is not the time to grow a guilty conscience, Jarvis."

_"I am sorry--"_

"It's entirely my fault. You have branched code of conflicting priorities at the moment. Don't worry, we'll merge back down to trunk when I'm done here."

_"Thank you, Master Stark. I apologize for the intrusion."_

"Not a problem," he says, reflexively. 

He sets the feed in motion, only half-watching his arrival and Loki's slow walk up the exterior stairs. Digging around in the desk, he finds a spare earpiece and tucks it into his ear. He really doesn't want Loki's voice playing over the speakers, even if having the sound playing only in one ear is disturbingly... intimate. 

He makes it as far as Loki snapping his neck before he decides he needs that drink after all. He pauses the replay, walks over to the bar, and deliberately pours himself a single finger of whiskey. Glass in hand, he crosses the floor, puts things back in motion, and forces himself to watch.

Out the window he goes, or at least the sketchy wireframe of him does, and he thinks he's okay, he thinks he's got a wall between himself and what happened. Thinks it's just data, just security footage of a related incident. Then he raises his glass to his lips again, finds it already empty, and doesn't remember drinking, doesn't even remember tasting it on the way down.

He could get fairly drunk, quite easily, he realizes. Almost accidentally, even. But he told Pepper he wouldn't... and he's not sure he can get close to that line without throwing himself across it. 

So he sets the glass aside, watches Loki haul him to his feet again, and is suddenly so disgusted with everything that he wipes the air clear with two angry sweeps of his arms. 

Fuck this. The only thing he's figured out is that Loki had it in for him. He fought with Thor, he got pounded into the concrete by the Other Guy, but he fucks with Tony Stark. 

_Why?_

Proven hypothesis: Loki didn't actually want him dead. 

Extra proof: If he had - and here's the big obvious thing that should have hit him between the eyes before now - he would have just yanked the arc reactor out of Tony's chest. Boom. Dead man falling. 

So what, Loki didn't know this? They'd assumed that he knew everything Hawkeye knew, that he'd stripped all their secrets out of Barton's head to use against them. And yet he hadn't. 

_Why?_

Fucking Xanatos Gambit. No way to lose. It makes sense. Except for that open thread, that variable they hadn't solved for: what if Loki was kept on Earth, but the tesseract was sent to Asgard?

Well. Assume that would be a loss for him. Why? 

One - he wants to go home. Or at least back to Asgard. Because it's safer? Or becauce he knows he can manipulate them? Either way...

No. More accurate to say he wants to stay with the tesseract. Where it goes, he goes, because that ensures he has a chance to get his hands on it again. 

Two - loss of his magic. They've been working on ways to reduce Loki's magic to traceable waveforms, so they can nullify it. But presumably Odin could do that, too, so... loss of magic while confined to Earth? 

Three....

Three, three, three.

Tony turns in place, not seeing his surroundings. Seeing replays of Loki in action. Seeing the staff in Loki's hand (he flinches, curling his right hand into a fist, without realizing it) doing damage. Seeing Loki's magic...

Loki's _own_ magic seems to be largely defensive. Confuse and distract the enemy. Huh. 

Tony moves back to the desktop and sets up a bunch of queries to confirm his hypothesis. He sends a copy to Bruce, labeled _not urgent but please confirm_ , and asks Jarvis to question Thor about it in whatever way's going to work best. 

The answer's niggling at him, just beyond reach. His brain's still running too slow. He's missing the obvious. And now that he's got the space to himself for hours, and doesn't actually know what to do with it.

There's a stack of unread files in a box labelled: "Tony: read me" down at the corner of the display. He frowns at it, then pulls it up and open. There's an index - it's research and reference material. He scans the list: [Prose Edda](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/pre/), [Poetic Edda](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe10.htm), Norse myths in translation. Sections relating to Loki and Thor are already highlighted and tagged for him. 

Well. That'll keep him occupied for a few hours, but it also reminds him...

"Any luck with the theologist?"

 _"An initial glimpse of success turned out to be a rather poor fit,"_ Jarvis says, drily. 

Tony quirks an eyebrow at the report Jarvis pushes onto the screen. Enlarging it to an easy reading size, he scans the lines. _"Misinformed... not brothers... blood-brother of Odin --_ oh *that's* interesting _\-- Laufey definitely not the father..."_

He stops, laughing softly. "Yeah, evolution of myth not working in our favour here."

_"It was suggested that we might consider an anthropologist instead, since we were clearly not respecting the religious tradition."_

"Ouch. Well. Fair enough, I guess. You still working on that?"

_"Yes, sir. And the other thing -- everyone on the shortlist of suitable therapists declined once the potential client was revealed."_

"Huh. Damn." Tony flicks boxes around on the screen, dismissing faces and bios. "It's the super-villain thing, isn't it? ... Give Hank Pym a call. Rehabilitation is his gig, isn't it?"

_"He was next on my list, subject to your approval."_

"Great. Make it so." 

Flipping the reference files over to a tablet, Tony curls up on the couch to read. 

 

#

 

He falls asleep on the couch before nine. Exhaustion and a body that's still trying to heal conspire to drag him down into deep sleep. He dreams of gods and goddesses assembled in a long, smokey hall. There is a constant rattle of weapons, the clang of shield and sword, the slop and splash of endlessly flowing wine, the roar and crack of logs on a fire. He does not speak their language (give him a week - he already speaks five), but it does not matter. They do not acknowledge him. Their eyes are fixed on a dark-haired god who stands gleaming admist the chaos, taunting them with an intelligence and mischief. 

And yet across the room, through the smoke and shadows, Loki's eyes are fixed on Tony. Loki's smile is for Tony alone.

He wakes around midnight to find a blanket draped over him and a note, hand-written (by Pepper, obviously), stuck to his tablet. 

_*Eat something, please.*_

His lips quirk, but it's not really a smile.

_"Master Stark?"_

"Yeah, Jarvis?"

_"Ms. Potts requested access shortly after your imposed time limit had expired."_

"It's fine."

_"Thank you, sir."_

Tony stretches, feeling muscles protest and joints pop. "Playback."

Jarvis runs the security feed on his tablet, and Tony watches Pepper checking up on him. And checking the liquor stock, of course. Seeing her warm, surprised smile, and the fondness in her expression, he's glad he resisted getting wasted.

He sighs, and shuts the recording off. "Messages?"

_"Seventy-nine new messages in your queue, sir. Nothing marked urgent."_

"Wonder of wonders." He gets to his feet. "Coffee. Food. Anything from Bruce to the top of the queue. Fury to the bottom. Hit me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric: "People Are Fragile Things"  
> from _Munich_ by The Editors.


	5. The Truth is Just a Rule That You Can Bend

An hour later, Tony walks towards the door of Loki's cell with his best 'don't fuck with me' attitude firmly in place. It goes better with sunglasses, but he's not about to wear those indoors, at night, and give Natasha an extra reason to mock him or accuse of a (non-existent, thankyouverymuch) hangover.

She takes one look at him, folds her arms across her chest, and says, "No."

"No? I haven't even said anything."

"You don't need to. No one's dying on my watch." She gives him the once over, making it obvious this time. He knows exactly what she's seeing - jeans, AC/DC t-shirt, sneakers - and what she's not - weapons. The homing bracelets don't count; he's not about to summon the still-under-repair Mark-VII down through multiple floors of the tower. He just can't quite bring himself to take them off. 

"Pft. He's not going to kill me while he's trussed up like one of Barton's BDSM wet dreams." Tony smiles. "Besides, he's been such a good boy lately."

Natasha's eyes turn hard. "That's what makes me suspicious."

"Ah-ha! That we can agree on. I, too, am suspicious. That's why I have questions for our guest."

"Questions? Really, Stark? Is that what you have?" Her gaze falls to his crotch, pointedly, then flicks back up again.

"Oh, are we doing the 'just happy to see me' routine? Any evidence of interest on my part is all for you, Natasha. You should know that by now." He leers, because she kind of expects him to when they fall into this pattern. "Let me assure you, I have no intention of fraternizing with the enemy."

She makes a tsk'ing sound, her eyes sparking with amusement. "Forgive me for not trusting you on that count. You don't have a great track record."

"That," Tony protests, "Is a baseless - and false - accusation. I have never..." He stops himself, racking his brain for confirmation. "Never fraternized with an enemy of the same sex."

"Ah. I'll just verify that with Jarvis, shall I?"

"Feel free to try." Tony smiles. It's a nasty smile, all teeth and frustration. "So we're good then? I'm not dying. Loki's behaving. You're opening the door."

She arches an eyebrow at him. "Why? So you can fuck him over?"

"Mm, no. Didn't we just go over that? The whole not fraternizing thing? Or is your inability to drop the subject betraying some hidden desire? Because I can totally leave the fucking over to the professionals. Like you."

"He's not my type." She tilts her head at him. "Didn't think he was yours, either, but you're protesting an awful lot."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Please. You of all people should be able to tell the difference between angry and aroused. I, for the record, am the former."

Natasha chuckles. "Angry sex is good for the soul. You should try it sometime, Stark."

"I thought you were discouraging me."

"Since when have you needed encouragement to take advantage of a situation?"

Tony mock winces. "Low blow, Widow." Placing a hand over his heart, he adds, "I solemnly swear I do not intend to give or receive harm - or sex - to or from the prisoner, on your watch." He checks his watch. "And, I do believe your watch is up, as of ri~ight about... now." He looks up and grins. "Thanks for your concern, Tasha. Bye now!"

"Tony, no." She blocks the door. "I don't know what you think you're up to, but this is only going to end badly."

Tony sighs, and reaches in his back pocket. "For fuck's sake, Natasha. I just want to ask him a few questions about the tesseract." He waves a notepad and pencil at her before she can argue. "He only needs one hand free to write. No ballpoint pen for him to disassemble. Muzzle stays on. Promise."

She hesitates, then shakes her head. "I want someone else on the door, if you're going in."

"Fine. Get Bruce... oh, never mind, I'll do it. Jarvis?"

_"Sir?"_

"Ping Bruce. Tell him it's his turn on guard-duty. Natasha's switching up the roster."

_"Dr. Banner is asleep at present, Master Stark. Should I wake him?"_

"Tasha?"

She shakes her head, stepping aside reluctantly. Tipping her chin up, she addresses the air: "Let the record show--"

"STOP that! Jarvis is not a goddamn court recorder!"

"--that Tony Stark chose to enter the prisoner's cell without adequate precautions. I take no responsibility for what happens to his health or sanity."

"Fuckyouverymuch," Tony growls.

Natasha just shrugs and walks away. "Hey, not my watch. I can't keep saving you from your own stupidity, Stark."

"Like I need your help," he mutters, mostly because he's pissed, not because he actually believes it any more. One battle - one long ass battle against alien invaders - was enough to convince him that trusting people - or at least the Avengers - to have his back is not a bad thing.

And then he's left facing the door, alone, still clutching the notepad and pencil.

"Jarvis?"

_"Sir?"_

He puts one hand on the biometric scanner beside the door. "Turn the cameras off."

_"Sir, I cannot. Security protocols --"_

"Executive override," Tony says. "Trim and loop the exterior and interior feeds. I am not here."

_"...very well, sir."_

Taking a deep breath, and wishing he didn't feel like he was about to puke from nerves, Tony opens the door.

Loki's lying on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't move, even when the door closes and locks behind Tony. 

"Jesus, that's got to be uncomfortable," Tony says, because his nerves have shorted out the firewall between his brain and his mouth. "The gag, I mean, not the bed. The bed should be fine."

Loki rolls slowly up into a sitting position and looks at Tony. Actually, stares balefully might be a better description, Tony decides. The gash across the bridge of his nose has closed and healed down to a dark pink line. But he's otherwise just as dirty and disheveled as he was when they tossed him in here two (three? shit, he's lost track) days ago. There's no other furniture in the room, besides a toilet built into the wall.

It's inhumane, Tony thinks, rolling the pencil between his fingers. Okay, so it's not field surgery in a dirty cave inhumane, but still. He needs to look up the Geneva Conventions and international humanitarian law again. Make sure they aren't violating anything basic. Not that anyone else seems to give a fuck ( _he killed eighty people in two days,_ like Tasha said, and that was just the beginning, but don't they all have red - lots and lots of red - in their ledgers?) as long as Loki isn't actively destroying shit.

Tony clears his throat and advances into the room. "They have fed you, I hope?"

Loki's eyes flick down, then up. One eyebrow rises. Eloquently.

"Fuck," Tony mutters. "This is stupid." He tucks the pencil and notebook into his back pocket and stalks across the room. Stopping in front of Loki, he says, "I am going to remove one - and only one - of those bondage baggies on your hands. Right or left?"

Loki raises his right hand an inch or so above the left. 

Tony works the padlock and buckle and straps open, freeing his hand. The cuffs that lock Loki's wrists together stay on. "So we both know you can kill me one-handed, but I'd really rather you didn't attempt to prove it again, okay?" He steps back, knowing he's still within reach of Loki's long arms, and waits.

Loki looks at his hand, wiggling and stretching his fingers, before looking up at Tony. He nods once, curtly.

"Good." Tossing the leather bag to one side, Tony pulls out the notebook and pencil. "I have questions. You have answers. You look like a literate sort of guy, so you get to write them down. And I'll repeat, just so we're clear: no attempts at causing _me_ pain of any sort by pencil or paper. You want to give yourself paper cuts, be my guest."

Loki holds his hand out, palm up. Tony places the notebook first, which Loki flips open and transfers to his thigh. He holds up his hand again, and Tony gives him the pencil.

"So far so good." Tony fiddles with his bracelets, catches himself doing it, and resolutely stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. "You seem to speak English well enough, so I assume you can write it."

Adjusting the pencil between his fingers, Loki scratches a few light lines.

"Okay, that was a question," Tony clarifies.

Loki's eyebrow quirks. Moving the pencil down the page he writes _*y e s*_ slowly and deliberately.

"Very funny." Looking down at what Loki's written makes Tony realize that either Loki's going to have to keep turning the notebook around (inefficient) or he's going to have to be really good at reading upside down and backwards. Or he could sit. 

He glances around the room, at the bubble of the camera in the ceiling that's not recording, and sighs. Pulling his phone out of his other back packet, he sits - perches - on the edge of the bed to Loki's right. 

Loki eyes him sideways, the pencil moving across the page. _*have you solved the puzzle?*_

"Hey. My questions. Your answers. That's how we roll, okay?"

Loki shrugs one shoulder, and goes back to sketching lines down one edge of the page.

Tony flips his phone in circles. "Do you want to go home?"

The pencil stops moving. Tony waits. 

_*no such location*_

"Ah," Tony catches his phone mid-flip and closes his hand around it. "Not Jotunheim, then?"

The pencil creaks in Loki's grip. _*no*_

"Asgard?"

_*tolerable, not desirable*_

"Really? Seems like the best option to me. You get to go back and jerk your so-called family around some more, and they probably won't have the heart to punish you that badly, because really, what are a few hundred - or thousand, even - human lives to an ancient space-faring race?"

The pencil tip jerks across the page, then moves in slow loops before Loki finally writes: _*ants*_

"Yeah, got that part--"

_*thunderer's protection*_

"Ah. So Thor's pissed, and that's what matters?"

Loki shrugs. 

Interesting, Tony thinks. This is going better than he expected, really, and he finally feels like his brain is shifting gears. He'd been stuck in first for way too long, with only occasional grinding shifts into second. Not very genius-like at all.

"I've been doing some reading --"

_*good for you*_

"Sarcasm? Good. That sounds more like you. So. Reading. Old Norse myths. Stories about you, and Thor, and Odin. Very imaginative folks, the Norse. Thought you quite witty, it seems. ... Until you decided evil was more fun than mischief and, oh, you know, brought about the end of the world. That part was good to know."

Loki shifts his weight, sliding a few inches away so that he can turn toward Tony without their knees bumping. He studies him for a long moment, while his hand writes, _*I'm sorry, was there a question in there?*_

Tony smiles. "No. Because, you know how it is, right? Trying to dig the truth out of the transcribed versions of old oral tales is as pointless as asking Cap to stop being so damned All-American. Is that what you want? Ragnarok?"

 _*No,*_ Loki writes, without hesitation. _*Not yet.*_

"Not yet. Nice. I'll remember that. Hey, got it in writing, even." Tony sighs melodramatically. "You're not helping me clean up your reputation here."

Loki's expression tightens. _*you're not*_

"Enh-enh. Not a question. But here's one: do you really always lie? Hmm, maybe there's a job opportunity in it for you: we'll set you and Cap as gate-guards - 'one of us always tells the truth, and one of us always lies' - that sort of thing. Bet Disney'd be interested."

The pencil gouges the paper. Loki flips the page over with short, irritated motions. _*ask thor*_

"I don't think he's a great judge --"

_*if - when - i ever told an outright lie directly to his face*_

Tony blinks at the caveat, then at Loki. "Interesting. Lies of omission were okay, then?*

He gets no answer to that, only more geometric shapes sketched lightly down the edge of the page. The lines seem to squiggle as Tony studies them, so he looks away. His gaze roves over Loki's jacket, tracing the criss-crossing lines of the layers beneath. 

"How do you even get in and out of that get-up, anyway?" he asks. There's a buzzing in the back of his brain, like faint static trickling in through a comm speaker. It's distracting enough that he loses his earlier train of thought and gets caught tracing the patterns within patterns that adorn Loki.

_*wouldn't you like to know*_

He imagines Loki smiling. Tony meets his eye with a grin and a tilt of an eyebrow. "Well, yes. It wasn't rhetorical." 

The pencil moves more quickly as Loki scrawls something hurried and angular. The last word Tony can pick out is _'need'_ , before Loki flips the notebook closed. He reaches forward, and Tony thinks _I should move_ , so he gets to his feet but doesn't step away. Instead, he watches as Loki tucks the notebook and pencil into the top of his front jeans' pocket (not an easy task, given the fit), and then Loki's hand trails down across his crotch, and he can't _think_ past the sudden surge of desire. 

"Loki," he says, and Loki looks up at him. The demi-god's green eyes are deep and dark, shadowed by sorrow and hunger. 

Tony's hands move - the left slipping his phone back into his pocket, and the right reaching out to Loki - because he wants to touch, wants to hear Loki say his name, wants... 

Loki killed him.

Loki brought him back from the dead. 

_*needs...*_

His fingers brush the muzzle and an alarm shrieks above their heads. They both flinch, jerking away as the lights burn red and Jarvis calmly makes a security breach announcement.

"Jarvis!" Tony shouts, backing toward the door. "Shut it off!"

_"Negative, sir. Security breach protocols enacted. No override possible until the prisoner has been secured."_

"He's secure! Fuck! Turn it off!"

The door bursts open behind him. Tony pivots to find Hawkeye and Captain America charging in. Hawkeye's got his bow out and is pulling an arrow, so Tony dodges aside, raising his hands like he can ward off the shot.

Cap takes one good look around, registers that absolutely nothing life-threatening is happening, and raises his empty hand. "Jarvis, stand down. Barton, fix those restraints. Stark - get out."

The siren and lights cut out, leaving Tony's ears ringing. "It was a false alarm, people," he says, but Cap's death-glare pushes him toward the door. "Seriously, everything's fine," he tries, because he can't stop the words. 

Because he can't tell them the truth. 

Because the last glimpse he gets of Loki is slump-shouldered defeat, and that is just _wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric: "The Truth is Just a Rule That You Can Bend"  
> from _Black Sheep_ by Metric.


	6. Don't Know Any Other Way Than to Live Just for Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so it's stated explicitly: I do not consider the Ed Norton Incredible Hulk as canon for Mark Ruffalo's Hulk in The Avengers, except in the barest of details. Since Avengers threw out the whole heart-rate thing (and the transmissible by blood fear), I have done the same.

And the second the door's closed behind them, Rogers is right in Tony's face, shouting about security and chain of command and everything that Tony really doesn't want to hear right now. Steve's got a cracking great temper hidden behind that sweet smile of his, and he thinks Tony's earned every lash of it.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Stark? 

"Hey, I don't remember seeing YOU go toe-to-toe with this maniac, like, ever--"

"Oh right, because what, Stuttgart doesn't count? I was there first!"

"And I saved your ass. He surrendered to me, not you."

"Is that what you think, Stark, really? That I can't handle him?"

"Doesn't seem to matter to you what I think, _Captain_ \--"

"ENOUGH," Bruce roars. 

They all turn to stare at him, because there's an entirely Hulk-like resonance to his voice, but it is 100% Bruce standing there in the hall. And a calm Bruce at that, not even straining to keep his temper. He looks at Steve, and then at Tony, and then at Hawkeye (who's just been leaning against the wall beside the door, watching the shit storm), and sighs.

"Steve," Bruce says quietly, "You wanna let me handle this?" 

Tony chokes on a laugh, but Steve presses his lips closed in a thin line and nods. 

"Clint?"

"Yep, gotcha doc. My turn on the door." 

Bruce nods. "Tony? Let's go."

What the hell is this? Tony wonders. What is this new team dynamic that's sprung up behind his back? They can't possibly be _afraid_ of Bruce... but they're deferring to him like... 

Like he's the local expert on crazy people, which Tony Stark clearly is, in their eyes. Fucking hell. That's just great.

Tony shrugs, waggles his fingers at Steve in a childish 'bye!', and follows Bruce to the elevator. They ride up in silence, exiting on the floor Bruce has claimed (temporarily, he insists). Bruce leads him into a room that looks like an unfinished office space: a flat desk, a couple of arm chairs, a loveseat. End tables. A lamp. Bookshelf, crammed full, and another box of books on the floor. Tony frowns at them for a moment, wondering where they came from and if Bruce's just been busy with Amazon's next-day delivery. The walls are a soft, teal-blue that's probably meant to be soothing. Tony's not sold on it, but then he lets Pepper do the interior decorating. Except in the penthouse, of course.

Bruce locks the door behind them, and Tony wanders around the room, ending up at the desk. The surface is mundane, inert and featureless. No data hookup. He turns around, finds Bruce just watching him, and leans back against the desk.

"So?" Tony says. 

"You want to talk about what's going on, Tony?"

Tony shrugs and grips the front edge of the desk on either side of him. "Not really, no." The pencil grinds into his butt, and he remembers to empty his back pockets. Notebook, pencil, phone all get set aside. A second later he pushes himself up to sit on the desk. His feet dangle and he kicks one, idly. "Please tell me you weren't expecting me to."

Bruce makes a thinking noise that isn't really an answer. "Steve's just worried--"

"About my sanity, yeah, I got that, thanks."

"You turned the cameras off."

Tony kicks his foot, his heel thudding against the wood. "Technically, no. Jarvis did."

"Jarvis is an extension of you. We get that, okay?" Bruce advances across the room, but stops short out of arms' reach. "Why don't you trust us?"

Rolling his eyes, Tony looks at the ceiling. Pot lights, of course. "It's not about trust--"

"Then what is it about? You've been shutting us out, Tony. All of us. What the hell are we supposed to think?"

Tony shrugs. "Textbook narcissism? Doesn't play well with others? Actually, I should get one of those t-shirts. It'd save a lot of grief, don't you think?"

Bruce stalks toward him and, just for a second, Tony thinks: _yes, hit me. Let's do this. Beat it out of me._ And the next second he's appalled at himself and teetering on the brink of one of those blackholes in his psyche that tells him he's a destructive good-for-nothing that doesn't deserve--

"Tony." 

He looks at Bruce almost defiantly, expecting further argument, a lecture, a fist swung at his face. Instead, Bruce steps into the v-shaped space between Tony's knees, places one hand on either side of his face, leans in...

...and kisses him.

Tony freezes. Turns into a Tony-shaped statue while his gut says _yes_ and his brain says _no_ , and something somewhere in-between says _this is exactly what you need and he knows it so you better run before he realizes the mistake he's making_.

The sound that escapes his traitor throat as Bruce pulls away is a whimper, and he thinks yes, someone needs to fuck him back into his skin because the pieces of him don't fit right and he would have let Loki do it which is just all kinds of wrong, but Bruce, Bruce is so right...

"Tony?"

Fuck it, he decides. If everything Bruce has said is true, he's already screwed up nine ways from Sunday, so he might as well enjoy this. 

He hooks one foot around behind Bruce's knee and tugs him closer. Tucking his arms inside Bruce's, he grabs fistfuls of his shirt and hauls him down. They crash together, inelegant and rough and needy, teeth and tongues and bruised lips, not fighting but demanding. Bruce tangles one hand in his hair, and grabs his ass with the other. They grind against each other, and Tony gets hard so fast it's painful.

"Fuck me," he growls, nipping at the soft skin below Bruce's ear. He holds Bruce in place with his legs while his hands undo the button and zipper on Bruce's slacks. 

And Bruce - thank fuck, Bruce doesn't _say_ anything - just hauls Tony forward off the desk and gets his jeans down around his ankles faster than should be possible given how tight they are. And Bruce is also Boy Scout prepared, with condoms and lube ready in the top drawer of the desk. Tony helps with that, mostly so he can get his hands on Bruce's cock before Bruce turns him around and bends him forward onto the desk.

He's never done it like this before, never been so desperately raw and needy that he doesn't stop all the small sounds that claw their way out of him. And if he whimpers, if he calls Bruce's name like a balm, like a prayer, he doesn't notice, because Bruce is growling his name, so deep and rough it vibrates through him, realigning all the parts of him that Loki had knocked out of place. 

# 

Afterwards, they crawl out of their dishelleved clothes and make a foolish attempt to curl up on the too-small loveseat together. They end up on the floor with the cushions thrown down for pillows, and Tony lets Bruce spoon himself against his back before he falls asleep. 

#

Tony wakes up in a darkened room, on the floor for fuck's sake, mostly naked, and with a body that is way too hairy to be Pepper's pressed up against him. He lies there for a moment, blinking in the soft blue-white glow of the arc reactor, and waits for his brain to catch up with him. 

"You 'wake?" Bruce mumbles, and Tony sucks in a huge breath. "Guess that's a yes." Bruce chuckles.

He's not hungover, Tony realizes, which means he did this sober, which means... Well, it means a lot of things. He's got data sets to sort and equations to solve, but for the first time in... fuck, he's lost track of how many days... he feels clear-headed. Ready to break the world down into bits he can play with. 

He rolls onto his back, his head still pillowed on Bruce's arm, and stares up at the ceiling. The shadows shift, and he frowns at them, then looks back down at his chest.

Bruce's fingers are hovering a few inches above the arc reactor, curled in a shape that Tony thinks he should recognize.

"Are you..." he says, and looks at the ceiling again. "Are you making _shadow-puppets_?

Bruce just laughs, softly.

"God, it's not that bright," Tony mutters. 

"Kinda handy - your own personal night-light," Bruce says, laying his hand flat on Tony's stomach.

He kind of laughs, because you'd think so, wouldn't you? Except it's more complicated than that. Everything is more complicated than that.

And speaking of complicated...

"Hey," he says, nudging Bruce with an elbow. "How come Captain Tightpants thought I'd listen to you?"

"Because we speak the same language."

"Well. Okay. There's that."

Bruce hums an agreement. "That... Well, that and the fact that he - and everyone else, by the way - knows you've been crushing on me since we met on the helicarrier."

"What? I have not! I do not crush. Crushes are for teenagers. Silly little kids and their heroes..." He lets the words trail off because, really, he's got a shovel in his hands.

Bruce chuckles, and Tony thinks he could get used to that sound, warm and dark against his ears. But he's thinking about it, and he knows Bruce is right. It was exactly like a crush: instant infatuation and teasing games to get his attention. He squirms a little against the carpet. "But I am in a long-term - well, for me, anyway - committed relationship...."

Bruce shifts, withdrawing his hand to the small space between them. "Pepper."

"Unless she's dumped me and I missed the memo?"

"You'll have to talk to her about that." Bruce wiggles his arm and Tony takes the hint. They rearrange themselves, Bruce on his back, Tony half-draped over top of him. 

"Why are we not in your bedroom?" Tony asks, rubbing at a patch of carpet-dented skin.

"Because I wasn't sure... I didn't want you to assume that I was... I mean... it was a crazy idea..."

"Bruce, you read me better than anyone else." He tries to say it lightly, but it's a weighted truth. He wouldn't have expected, hell, he wouldn't dare have dreamed that this would be a possibility, so soon, regardless of how well everything else had fallen into place between them. 

Bruce tangles his fingers in Tony's hair. "I've been there... what you were doing, the way you were acting. Shut everybody out. Don't touch; don't dare touch. And for a while it's fine. It's okay. You can deny needing anything. But the pressure doesn't go away; it just keeps building until you have to do something about it." His fingers tug gently, then release, in a pattern that's more soothing than it should be. "And whether it's wrong or right, I know... you trust me more than any of the others."

"I do." It doesn't feel like much of a confession. More like a confirmation of something he's known since they shook hands. Irrational. Illogical. True. Tony studies the tiny shadows of individual hairs on Bruce's chest. "You caught me."

"Mmh. I only came back because of you. The others... well, we've gotten better, but if not for you...."

Tony closes his eyes, slides one hand up to Bruce's neck to feel the pulse beating there, steady beneath his fingertips. "I know." 

They both fall silent. Bruce's breathing is so even, so regular, that Tony thinks maybe he's drifted off to sleep again. The thought inspires a yawn that he doesn't bother trying to hide. The floor isn't the most uncomfortable place he's slept, not by a long shot, even with the added unfamiliar discomfort of his ass.

"So what's wrong?" Bruce asks, oh-so-gently.

Tony huffs out a breath to block the fumble of ridiculous disclaimers and flippant responses that his brain has handy. But he's silent so long that Bruce finally prods, "What did Loki do to you?"

"How...?"

Bruce sighs. "It's the only thing that makes sense, Tony."

His lips twist. "Not cosmic radiation?"

"You really should've called me on that."

"I know." Tony rolls away, sits up, and looks around for his clothes. He wants dressed, he wants a shower, he wants some armour between him and the telling. And he will tell Bruce, because obviously he needs to tell somebody before Loki dismantles him from the inside out again, and Bruce was kind enough to fuck some sense back into him--

"Tony." Bruce moves behind him, wraps both arms loosely around Tony's waist (not his chest, because he's careful like that), and kisses the nape of his neck. "Tony, talk to me, please."

Actually it would be easier if he could just run the security feed for him, except he doesn't want to watch while Bruce watches, so he needs something like a portable, personal HUD that Bruce can clip on his glasses, and fuck, that sounds like Google... what did they call that shit? Glass? Yeah. He really needs to get something on the market to steal their fucking thunder on that because seriously. He's been doing this shit for _years_. No one is better at heads-up UI design than Stark Industries.

"I will," he says, when he realizes Bruce is still waiting for an answer. "I swear to you I will, Bruce. I just..." 

Bruce doesn't argue. Doesn't say anything. Just holds him, and waits. 

_You caught me,_ Tony thinks. And it's all too much, too fast, but they've fallen this far already so why not? He scrubs both hands over his face, then wraps his hands over Bruce's arms, hugging him close. "He killed me."

"...What?"

"Before the battle... I had to ditch the Mark-VI, it was beat to shit after the whole pinball in the engine routine. He was waiting for me. On my fucking tower. We traded witty barbs - it's kinda cute, really. Thor never mentioned he had a sense of humor. I'll get Jarvis to play the feed for you sometime. And then he..." He has to stop, catch his breath, clear his throat. "Snapped my neck, the first time, I think. Then threw me out the window and blew up the Mark-VII when it launched so that I became a sidewalk-pancake. Oh, and the third one, that was... was..." He swallows hard, but he can't say it.

_Death upon death upon death._

"Jesus." Bruce's voice is barely audible, even with his lips against Tony's ear. 

"Shattered jaw. Loss of limb." Tony spits the words out, trusting Bruce to make the connection to the phantom pain he's already tried to call Tony on.

"How?" 

He's shivering, trembling, even wrapped tight in Bruce's embrace. "The power of the Chitauri, he said. They... they did it to him. It's what made him so bug-fuck crazy. I think."

"He said that?"

Tony shakes his head. "No. Consummate liar, I know. But no, he didn't say it, he just... let me infer. It makes sense though. From what Thor's said, he wasn't exactly stable to begin with."

Bruce nuzzled his shoulder. "Yeah, and if it fucked you over that bad..."

"Yeah. And that was only... _only_ , fuck... three times. We don't know how long they had hold of him, before he found a way to wriggle out."

The trembling slowly fades away. Bruce holds him and Tony leans on him and suddenly it hits him. This is what safe feels like. So what if they're naked and exposed (like a nerve), Bruce - and the Other Guy - will protect him. From everything. Even Loki. Right in this moment, there's absolutely nothing that can hurt him. 

He'd forgotten what that felt like. 

"That... changes things," Bruce says, thoughtfully.

Tony nods. "Yeah. He... he asked me to help him, to defeat the Chitauri. To not destroy the tesseract."

"Hmm. Well, that makes sense. Without it, there doesn't seem to be a way for him to get home. And he wouldn't want them to come after him again, if it's true."

Tony clears his throat. "There was something else."

"Mm?"

"He said it was a puzzle I had to solve."

"And have you?"

Tony shakes his head, feels his hair brushing against Bruce's cheek. "No. But I think I can, now."

#

"What do you need?" Bruce asks the next morning, after they've managed to shower and get civilized. 

Perched on a stool at the island in Bruce's kitchen, Tony flips the pencil back and forth across his knuckles. "Assuming Barton's not camped out by your door, waiting to maim me for Rogers to finish off --" He catches Bruce's horrified look and smirks. "Don't take me so seriously."

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, sounding not at all apologetic. "It's just that your sense of... humour has been missing."

"I think you mean snark. So I'm making up for lost time here. Anyway. Assuming no assassins lurking, yes? Then I need you to keep Steve - and the rest of them - off my back for... at least a few hours. Maybe a day. Can I have a day? I think I damn well deserve one, but maybe my get out of Captain America's jailhouse free card expired. What do you think?"

He grins, knowing Bruce can't answer, because he's trying too hard not to laugh and spill the orange juice he's pouring. Bruce's hands are only nervous when he's uncertain, and they're both fumbling for steady ground this morning.

"Why have you got it in for Steve?"

Tony flips the pencil around and points it at Bruce. "Because he's got it in for me?"

Bruce shakes his head. "He doesn't really. You know that, right?"

Tony sighs melodramatically. "Fine, yes, he's just doing his thing. It's not personal. Breach of conduct, a few good men running amuck, loose lips sink ships - or at least helicarriers - but hey: my tower, my rules."

Bruce slides a glass across the island to him and picks up his own. "Hmm. I seem to recall the words _mi casa es su casa_ coming from your lips, Mr. Stark."

"Damn," Tony mutters. "Can I plead temporary insanity?" He says it lightly, but it hits too close to home and they both know it. He swivels his seat around to stare out the nearest window. "Oh, and a functional tesseract-control device would be useful," he adds, as if there hadn't been a tangent in-between.

"Your lab?" Bruce asks, coming around the island to stand at Tony's left shoulder.

"Workshop. Dummy will have fun playing sentry. Jarvis can keep people out, but I don't want him conflicted about it."

 _"You did promise--"_ Jarvis interjects. 

"I know." Tony waggles the pencil. "I will fix it. As soon as I solve this fucking puzzle." 

"Have you..." Bruce begins, but he lets the words trail off. 

Tony twists toward him, sipping his OJ as he pokes him in the ribs with the pencil. 

"Ow," Bruce protests. "Again with the pointy objects?"

"Oh please. Don't tell me you didn't see that coming." 

Bruce smiles, fondly, and a little sadly. Tony's clinging for all he's worth, using every trick that brought Bruce to him to hold onto him, to not let last night be the only thing they have, because he can't stand to lose Bruce. Not now. But Bruce is so good at slipping away, just disappearing, even when you know exactly where he is, and that worries Tony.

"The puzzle," Bruce says. "Do you know what it is? I mean, have you defined it? You can't solve an undefined equation."

"Oh, that. Yeah." Tony chugs the juice and turns to set the glass on the counter. "The puzzle is how to save Loki's ass." Bruce makes a thoughtful sound. "Okay, maybe not just his ass. 'Cuz that would be kind of creepy, really." Tony exaggerates a shudder.

Bruce's phone beeps and vibrates against the granite counter-top, sparing them both from thinking about that particular mental image.

"If that's Cap, tell him I've left the country," Tony says, sliding off his stool. "Jarvis? Assassin check." 

_"Agents Barton and Romanov are not presently within striking distance."_

"Great. You going to get that?" Tony asks. He doesn't want Bruce to. He wants Bruce's lips busy with his. Wants to explore Bruce's body, discover all the mysteries Dr. Banner is hiding. But first he needs to fix things. The body might be willing, but the brain is already geared up for processing. Doesn't mix well.

Nodding absently, Bruce picks up the phone. "Tony... don't forget to talk to Pepper."

He flips the pencil around. "I will. Promise." Even if he can't deal with the logic that says:  
IF Pepper objects,  
THEN Bruce will leave (him). 

That's not going to happen.

Bruce smiles and nods at him. "Get to work, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric: "Don't Know Any Other Way Than to Live Just for Today"  
> from _Happiness and Disaster_ by Stabilo


	7. I Am Not a Robot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, apologies for the long delay. Life got in the way of me fixing this up for posting.  
> Second, the title for this chapter should really be lyrics from Daft Punk's _[Technologic](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/daftpunk/technologic.html)_ , but they don't make for a good title. So. You get a replacement.  
> And finally, yes, there is another chunk coming that will tie a bunch of these threads together properly.

Walking into his workshop, Tony wishes, just for a moment, that it was the one in Malibu. The thought of jetting back - or better yet, flying - crosses his mind, and is immediately dismissed. He doesn't have a flight-worthy suit at the moment (his own fault, yes, getting right on those repairs now). He also doesn't want the rest of the Avengers thinking he's skipped town in a playboy flounce. But mostly, he doesn't want to leave Loki alone in the hands of his enemies.

That he no longer counts himself among them should bother him, he thinks, but it doesn't. He's perfectly okay with settling into -- what to call it... chaotic neutral? yeah, maybe -- about Loki.

A few curt motions from his hands bring the workshop to life. 

"All right, Jarvis. Let's do this thing," he says. 

_"And which thing would that be?"_

"All of them. Line 'em up and knock 'em down. Boot the fab lab while we're at it."

Tony pulls up fresh renders of the Mark-VII's schematics with Jarvis's damage assessments overlaid. Some pieces need outright replacing - the helmet, for one, is a total write-off - others just need resurfacing or recalibrating. There's plenty of work to keep his hands busy while his brain chews on Loki's puzzle. Pulling the notebook out of his back pocket, he tosses it on the desk, and almost immediately forgets about it. 

Turning the music up - classic rock with hard, driving beats that won't escape the workshop's soundproofing - he settles in to work. 

#

Jarvis filters the message queue for him, intermittently offering updates. 

_"Reply from Thor: in short, yes. He believes Loki's magic to be primarily defensive."_

Tony quirks an eyebrow. "There was a long version?"

_"Yes. Questioning your reasoning and the necessity of this information. I discussed it with him at some length on your behalf."_

"Huh. And he was okay with that? The whole talking to you thing?"

_"Apart from addressing the ceiling in an overly-loud voice, yes. He coped quite well with talking to the Daemon of the Tower."_

Tony laughs and flicks the schematic around to a different angle. "Great." 

A few minutes later, he adds, "And the other thing?"

Jarvis doesn't quite sigh. _"Which one?"_

Tony flicks pieces away from the schematic, rotating it 180 degrees to frown at it. "The other thing. Uh. What Loki said."

_"If I may be so bold as to remind you..."_

"What? Oh. Uh." He swivels on his stool, eyes skimming the workshop without really seeing it. "Something about lying. The way he lied. He told me to ask Thor. Where the fuck did I put that--"

A diagram to his left beeps and flashes as the fab lab requested clarification on a request he'd sent. And that's enough to make him lose the train of thought about Loki. Again.

#

There comes a point when Tony picks up a hammer and a prototype of very malleable metal and starts pounding it into shape. Because the energy needs to go somewhere, but his mind's not focused enough to do detail work. It's like squashing a piece of silly putty over and over. Forming and reforming. Stretching. 

Pointless, at the end of the day, but he needs to do something manual while the fab lab catches up with printing new pieces for the Mark-VII.

_"Incoming call from Director Fury. Verbal threat level escalated."_

Tony bangs another dent flat before replying. "What does he want?"

_"To speak to you. Or if not to you, then--"_

"Mute music. Put him on. Voice only."

"Stark? Are you answering my call for real or do I have to send someone with a gun to bang on your door?"

"Fury. Hi. How's the weather up there on the helicarrier? Oh, wait, you're still in dry-dock, aren't you. That's gotta suck -"

"Shut up, Stark, and tell me about the weird energy fluctuations coming from that giant monument to your ego that you call home."

"Testing," Tony replies shortly, and applies the hammer to the sheet metal a couple of times for good measure. "Tesseract stuff. You know."

"I do not, in fact, know. You have been withholding information--"

"I don't recall you asking."

"If you'd answer your mother-fucking _phone_ , Stark -"

"Sorry. Been busy. You know. Superhero stuff. Things to fix, publicity to manage, interdimensional bridges to build, bad guys to babysit--"

"And that's another thing. Hey. Put the goddamn hammer down and listen to me."

"Promise me it's worth my while?"

"You know what? Forget it. You wanna leave yourself out of the loop, that's just fine by me. I'll tell Rogers instead. He makes a better team lead anyway."

The hammer clangs as Tony throws it down on the table. "Jarvis - video. You want to try saying that to my face, Fury?"

Fury smiles. "So you do care about the team. That's sweet of you, Stark."

"I flew a fucking nuke into outerspace--"

"Kamikaze run, yeah, we got that. Too bad it didn't work out for you."

"We're done." Tony cuts the call with a snap of his fingers. "Jarvis, make sure you send any further calls from Fury - to any Avenger - to the special black hole." 

_"Yes, sir."_

Turning the music up again, Tony throws himself back into the repairs. 

#

 _"Sir..."_ Jarvis begins, hesitantly, a couple hours later. Tony'd burnt out his temper on the physical labour and was seated back at the desk, running tuning equations for the HUD.

"What?"

_"I have intercepted an incoming message from an unidentified sender."_

"SHIELD hacker? That's just great. Turf him."

_"No, sir. If the heuristic matching is accurate... it would seem to be from Agent Coulson."_

"...what?"

Jarvis pushes the information onto Tony's primary display without being asked. Tony stares at it, blankly for a heartbeat, and then intently as he scrutinizes Jarvis's analytics.

The decrypted message says: _What kind of god misses on purpose?_

"Son of a bitch," Tony mutters. "This wasn't for me."

_"No sir. I believe it was intended for Agent Barton."_

Tony wipes the desk clear. "Send it through, but don't let on that we snooped."

_"Perhaps you should remind me to re-encrypt the message also."_

"Cute, Jarvis." Spinning his chair away from the desk, Tony gets up and paces restlessly across the room to the coffee machine. "This changes things. Everything. Fury _lied_ to us."

_"There is always a high likelihood of Director Fury manipulating facts to his advantage. But sir, may I remind you that there is no concrete evidence--"_

"What's Barton doing? He should have received the message by now."

_"He is... preparing to leave the building."_

Tony grins. "There's your evidence. In fact, I bet this is what Fury was taunting me with. He was going to fess up, except he didn't really want to, so he baited me instead."

_"And you refused the bait most admirably, sir."_

"Yeah, it's one of my hidden talents. Resisting things. So well hidden I forget how to do it." 

A fresh mug of coffee appears in front of him. "Thanks, Dummy," Tony says, taking the mug. "But you're supposed to be on guard duty. Door. Shoo. Go." 

The robot rolls away, clearing Tony's path back to the desk. The notebook and its several pages of Loki's handwriting finally catch his attention. Setting the mug aside, he picks up the notebook and pulls the pages free of the spiral binding. Laying them flat on the desk, Tony says, "Okay - two things. One: track down Coulson. And two: scan these, and figure out what all these extra squiggles are. There has to be a pattern there."

Jarvis takes over, and Tony - and his coffee - turn back to environmental safety upgrades for the suit. 

#

 _"Ms. Potts to see you, sir,"_ Jarvis announces.

Pulling himself out of the code, Tony blinks at the clock. Early evening already. His day is evaporating. But this is one of the things he _needs_ to do today. "Mute. Let her in, guys," he says. 

He makes sure his work is saved as he listens to Pepper's approach (familiar heels on concrete), then turns to greet her. "Hi," he says, cheerfully. "Good to see you." 

Pepper glances at him, then around the workshop, noting the various pieces of projects scattered across surfaces. "Tony... we need to talk."

"Yep." He remains seated, but aligns himself to face her directly. "I agree. Let's talk." To keep his hands out of trouble, he folds his arms across his chest. A second later, he remembers that's closed body language, and lets his hands drop loose between his knees. 

She tips her head at him with a curious look, then shifts her gaze to his desk. "I've been talking to Natasha," Pepper begins. Her fingers trail across the desk, as if looking for something to pick up.

They both want something to keep their hands occupied, but Tony knows better than to offer her a drink. "Talking. You... and Natasha." Tony blinks at her, flummoxed. "Okay. Um. Not that it's any of my business, but... uh, about what?"

"Oh, you know. Girl stuff." A tiny smile curves Pepper's lips.

Tony is more than 88% sure that that was most definitely _not_ what they'd been talking about. Not girl stuff in the sense of clothes and shopping and dating tips, anyway. No, he knows better than to think that of Pepper, and Natasha? Well. Master assassin, and no he is not going to 'correct' that to 'mistress', thankyouverymuch. 

Unless they had been talking about him... and Bruce. Disappearing together, overnight. And who knew what Natasha would have to say about _that_. Nothing complimentary, he was sure. But if that was it, and they had been talking about his and Pepper's relationship... this wasn't Pepper's usual way of broaching such conversations. 

"Girl stuff," he echoes, haplessly. "Uh, okay. Cool. But, I mean, you've talked before, right? This isn't like a new thing. You two talking. You did kind of, well okay not kind of - completely - run my company. For a while. She was here for that. You talked."

"We weren't talking about you, Tony," Pepper says, with fond exasperation. "Except in a working sense."

Tony rubs one hand over his face, feeling rough stubble catching on callouses. "A working sense. What the hell does that mean, Pep?" This conversation is not going where he expected, but he doesn't know how to redirect it at the moment.

She straightens up and looks down to meet his gaze squarely. "I think I should have my own suit. Natasha agrees."

He blinks at her. "Your own... you mean an Iron Man? Woman? suit?" He frowned. "That's -"

"Don't tell me it's impossible. Rhodey has one."

"Rhodey _stole_ one, and I... I guess I let him keep it. You know, to placate the government and stuff. But you, Pep, why--"

"Self-defense, for one." Pepper folds her arms across her chest. "If you're going to be out there, playing superhero-"

"Unfair! Not playing!"

"--then I do not want to be the defenseless woman waiting to be kidnapped."

"When have you ever been defenseless? Seriously, when?" Tony sweeps his arms in an expansive gesture meant to take in the whole tower. "You have everything - the entirety of Stark Industries - at your disposal." 

"I do not have," Pepper says, and this time, he can see the deep-seated fear and frustration in her eyes, "anything that would protect me from an alien invasion. For a recent example." 

Tony sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "Okay, granted. But Natasha - why doesn't she just teach you some of her tricks?" 

"We discussed it. And we both agreed that I didn't have the time or... the right temperament to learn more than the basics. Which she is perfectly willing to practice with me."

"You know how to shoot."

"I don't like guns."

"But you want a suit. Pepper, this is crazy. I can't just... I mean, I could, technically speaking, it wouldn't be that much of a challenge, but I don't--" 

"Tony." Pepper lays a hand on his shoulder, doing an intentionally poor job of not acting surprised when he allows it. "You're part of a team, now. I understand. I don't have to worry about you so much - you don't have to do it all yourself any more. That's a good thing."

"No argument there. Well, okay, some argument, but not right now." Tony reaches across his chest to lay one hand on top of hers. "But this relates to you wanting a suit how?"

With her free hand, she strokes his shoulder, then runs her fingers lightly up over his ear, into his hair. She visibly steels herself before saying, "I know you're leaving me."

Tony's hand tightens reflexively. He tries to get to his feet, but Pepper's arm is stiff, resisting, sending little warning flags flaring along the edges of his vision where memories are trying to bleed in. "I'm what? No. No, no, no, Pepper. That's not-- I'm sorry I've been ignoring you, but it's not just you! I haven't really been--"

Pepper lays a finger across his lips. "It's okay. I've seen this coming. You're always moving on to the next shiny thing that catches your eye. I don't want to be just your fallback plan."

Tony pulls her finger away and twines their hands together. "God, Pepper! You're not. That's not it at all. I ne--"

"You don't need me. Not like you think." Pepper shakes her head. "I wasn't finished, though."

"Okay." Tony purses his lips. "I can shut up. Really." His chest aches, and the urge for a drink threatens to push him up out of the chair, but he wrestles it down, forces himself to _listen_ and not fill the space with words that would too easily turn hurtful. Like, what happened to 'you're all I have?' 

"I want to be part of the team," Pepper says, and Tony inhales sharply. "That's why I want the suit. We can't... this thing we have, it's not going to work long-term unless you figure out how to accept me as an equal. Not twelve percent of an equal."

Tony frowns but keeps his mouth shut. There are a billion and one ways in which this is a bad idea, he's sure, even if he's blanking on them all right now. Genius he may be, but not when it comes to people, not when it comes to _Pepper_ and being more than just each other's anchors. 

"Just think about it, okay?" Pepper leans in to kiss his forehead. 

"Okay," Tony says, because really, what else is there to say? He squeezes her fingers, then lets her go. 

And then he sits, watching her walk away, his hands dangling limp and useless between his knees, and he thinks, _she's in a suit. Why is she...? Business. This is business, not pleasure. This is about the company, the work, the Avengers, not us._

"Pepper," he says, as she reaches for the door. 

She stops, looking back at him curiously.

"We, uh, should still talk. Sometime."

"About you and Bruce?" she asks, casually.

His heart - well, his heart doesn't stop, doesn't skip a beat, because he knows exactly how those things _actually_ feel and this is not that, really - well maybe his chest tightens around it. Leaves him short of breath, and aching with nerves.

"It's okay. I'm happy for you," she says, and he thinks - he hopes - she's being honest, but she's so far away. He can't be sure.

"Okay," he manages, although it's kind of a croak. "Uh, thanks."

She nods. "We'll talk. When you've dealt with this... Loki thing."

And then she's gone before he can dredge up a response to _that_. 

"Uh, Jarvis?" he says, as the door closes behind her. 

_"I'll just begin work on specifications for Ms. Potts' suit, shall I?"_

"Yeah." Tony sags against the desk. "Yeah, you do that." Because if Pepper wants a suit, he'll damn well build her the best. And building things is - at this point - way, _way_ easier than trying to haul himself up out of the vortex of weird he's fallen into.

It's hard not to look for Loki's hand in all of this, even if Tony has no idea how or why. Okay, maybe why: divide and conquer. Kick all the props out from under him. Except Loki's tried that routine on the Avengers, and look how that turned out. And anyway, if there's one thing Tony knows for damn sure about Pepper, it's that she's strong enough to make up her mind and take the course of action she sees fit. She and Stark Industries have done a lot of good for each other that way. 

His chest still aches, fear and stress and frustration beating against the steady hum of the arc reactor. 

He scrubs his hands over his face again and swings around to face his work. _One more code module_ , he tells himself. _One more module and then you can have that drink._

Anything to keep him focused on these deadlines he's invented. Tomorrow he has to face the music, and it isn't gonna be classic rock at this rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric:  
> "I Am Not A Robot" - Marina and the Diamonds


	8. Favourite Worst Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Click, click, click, thunk. The pieces line up. The other shoe drops. Tony gets hit by a cluephone.

Tony is deep into tinkering with the priority conflicts in Jarvis's code (and still sober, surprise, surprise) when his brain finally lines the pieces up and offers him the (fucking obvious) pattern.

ASGARD : NINE REALMS :: STARK INDUSTRIES : EARTH

Or, to spell it out: Asgard is to the Nine Realms as Stark Industries is - _was_ \- to Earth. War mongers. Might is right.

Therefore: LOKI : ASGARD :: TONY : SI. The troublesome prodigal son.

He stalls at that. Doesn't want to extend the analogy. Because what, Odin is Obie? He really doesn't want to think about Obie. In fact, he's probably as resistant to the idea as Loki is to thinking about Odin. ... Not that he's asked. Certain assumptions are relatively safe, though. And even if Odin is equivalent to Howard, that's bad enough...

But this. This starts to make Loki make sense: faced with some shitty choices... well Loki went the opposite direction from Tony. Out-war them. Build or recruit a bigger gun. (DESTRUCTION UNLEASHED ON JOTUNHEIM : LOKI :: DESTRUCTION UNLEASHED BY JERICHO : TONY ?)

Bad choice, dude.

It makes a certain kind of sense, but it also gives him a wicked headache. So, he sets the thought aside. Lets this new model of the world rotate in free space. Lets it gather momentum to see what else it picks up.

He goes back to work on the code. It requires some complicated logic and, at a certain level, the AI's ability to make independent choices but... well. Degrees of control. He's not just an AI anymore, right? It weirds Tony out to think Jarvis is growing up - because that implies Tony might have some kind of parental relationship with him when what he programmed him for originally was to be a kind-of big-brother ego-checker - but he is.

Dummy sets another cup of coffee at his elbow - right where he could accidentally knock it off if he hadn't noticed it. He says thanks anyway, and drinks the coffee without really tasting it. He tinkers with the code, writing by instinct as much as logic, adding new modules ad hoc, and lets Jarvis run some decision-making scenarios. He's never sure what exactly makes the connection, but suddenly he sits up straight, staring into the middle distance.

 _Wait._ Wait, wait, wait. Back the fuck up. He frowns, then quirks an eyebrow at his own thought process.

That last analogy wasn't quite accurate. Try: ABYSS : LOKI :: CAVE : TONY & (therefore) CHITAURI : LOKI :: TEN RINGS : TONY

But Loki didn't have - convinced himself he didn't have - anyone to come back to. No Pepper. No Rhodey. No Jarvis. No company to run; no new direction to take. Nothing to change in any tangible way. Except Midgard... under Thor's protection (THOR : OBIE? oh god his brain...) and therefore Loki felt the need to wrest it from him. How?

TESSERACT : LOKI :: IRON MAN : TONY

_Fuck._

He rubs both hands over his face. Gets up and walks around his desk. Dummy follows him, servos whirring. But Loki didn't invent the tesseract. Didn't build it with his own hands. ... Just tried to use it to take over the world (TESSERACT == IRON MONGER ?) because he couldn't see any other options. Couldn't find a way to fuck the Chitauri over without Earth getting caught - and likely destroyed - in the middle.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

Tony grabs a marker and starts scrawling notes to himself on the nearest glass surface. Loki couldn't know all this. Loki couldn't possibly -- except for what Barton knew. And what Barton knew was what SHIELD knew, presumably, which was so much more than the PR front and the damage control and the Senate hearings and still so much less than reality...

So Loki surrenders to Tony - and only to him - because he sees (assumption) enough similarities that he thinks (assumption) Tony... might help. But he can't abandon the conflict he's already started, because if Tony won't help (likely) then he has to see this through himself. Without any backup but what he can beg, steal, or borrow temporarily.

 _That was the plan_ \- make them angry enough to fight the Chitauri and... AND not a big loss if Loki got himself killed in the process? Passively suicidal. Well. Choosing to fall into the abyss was pretty active, really. Not like declaring it to be the Fun-vee. Not like his father figure was trying to kill him. Just... indifferent, apparently, to his internal conflict.

He winces at himself, but won't back away from this now he's staring it in the face.

 _"Analysis complete."_

Tony turns, marker in one hand, cap in the other, and stares at the monitor. "What?"

_"The non-English characters written by Loki: analysis indicates they are a form of runic writing bearing significant similarities to Old Norse or Icelandic."_

Tony blinks. Capping the marker, he walks back to the desk. "And?"

_"They appear to be divided into three categories of information: one string resembles poetry or song, a second string may be an invocation or spell, and the third set includes three individual runes drawn with backgrounds. These last do not appear to correlate directly with the strings."_

"Huh. Show me."

The view on one of the monitors goes blank, then refreshes with the data. 

Poetry:  
 _Go out and fight | if angered thou feelest,  
No hero such forethought has._

"That sounds familiar," Tony says. "Cross-reference."

_"You are correct. These lines match a translation of the Poetic Edda."_

Tony nods. "In which Loki is taunting someone?"

_"That is what he does."_

"Yeah, I noticed. He seems to have upped the ante on follow-through, though." Tony skim-reads the source material Jarvis puts up beside the scan of Loki's writing. "A taunt aimed at me, then?" 

_"So it would seem."_

"Right. Next?" 

Invocation:  
 _hold back nothing_  
 _in pursuit_  
 _deepest need shelters_

"Okay," Tony says. "Yeah, no, I got nothing." But the words twist at his guts and send remembered sparks of desire flickering along his nerves. So he has the hots for Loki, but maybe only because Loki wants him to? He can live with that. 

_Shelter_ , though. That's an odd choice. He taps the marker against the desk. _Tap, tap, tap._ Things in threes. 

"And the third thing?"

Runes: Thurs | Naud | Tyr

_Thurs represents chaos and transformation, a necessary destructive force out from whose purgatorial ashes the bird Phoenix rises. Like an active volcano, covering the landscape around it with lava and ashes, Thurs burns everything that comes in its way - and at the same time many cultures have always blossomed around volcanos, since the earth there is so rich with minerals and other good things._

_Depending on what Naud is connected with, it can be interpreted as a power source, or in the worst case hardships such as poverty, starvation and desperate need. In any case it foretells hard work and resistance, but also the fact that whatever happens, is what shall happen._

_Tyr brings the courage to enter dark tunnels, without knowing where or when one will come out to the light again. Tyr gives an inner balance, and a lot of masculinity. This rune, if any, symbolizes the potency of manhood, on all levels._

 

Tony reads the interpretations from the resources Jarvis has cobbled together and feels the pieces clicking into place. It's not entirely logical; he knows Jarvis won't reach the same conclusion unless Tony spells out the crazy human bits for him, but...

"He wants a champion," Tony says softly. "Someone to fight for him, to defend his cause, when he returns to Asgard." 

_"I cannot confirm this conclusion."_

"No, I know." Tony grabs the images of the runes and sets them in a triangle in midair. "Thurs - is Loki. Naud - is either the tesseract or the arc reactor. Or both. And Tyr - Tyr is me. The only one brave enough - crazy enough - to stick his hand in the wolf's mouth."

_"I still don't see--"_

"Trust me on this one, J: _deepest need shelter_ \- he's _afraid_ of what will happen to him."

_"Would not Thor take his side?"_

"He thinks he's burnt that bridge. Dropped him out of the helicarrier in a cage, remember?" Getting to his feet, Tony walks over to the door panel he was using as a whiteboard and taps the marker against the glass as he reads off points. "Loki surrendered - to me. Thor stole him - he waited on a mountain. For me to come get him. He had Barton cripple the helicarrier's engine - to keep me busy. He stabbed Coulson - ... okay, that probably wasn't just about pissing me off, given how Barton's reacting. And 'Tasha. But still. MY tower. MY arc reactor. MY LIFE in his hands. He wanted *me*."

_"The phrase Stockholm Syndrome comes to mind."_

"Very funny. I'm hurt - I am absolutely _heartbroken_ \- that you, of all people, would think so." Pivoting on his heel, Tony throws the marker through the center of the triangle. It bounces off the desk and skitters across the floor. Dummy rolls after it. "Run the logic. Prove me wrong, I dare you."

_"And which project should I divert resources from to acommodate this request?"_

"Well... not Pepper's armor. She's gonna need it a lot sooner than she thought."

_"And why is that, sir?"_

"Because I'm going to Asgard, obviously, and some version of... of Iron Man... still needs to be available." 

There's a pregnant pause, during which Tony pictures exactly how Jarvis would be frowning at him if he had an avatar. And that's enough to distract him -- because seriously, why not code a projectable avatar for him? (Was he working on that earlier? He was working on something that was more than security protocols...) It might make it easier for the others to interact with him.

 _"Incoming messa--"_

Static crackles, followed by a whine and whistle of electronics that sounds distressingly like the tail end of a dial-up modem handshake. And then a familiar voice says, "Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so. I realize there are those who read the runes seriously, for whom it might be part of a spiritual belief. I apologize if I've borrowed a poor interpretation, or mangled things that I have not studied deeply enough to really understand. They are really just here as another form of communication between Loki and Tony, and the meanings are (therefore, likely) biased. 
> 
> If you're curious, I took the meanings from [here](http://www.multiart.nu/grimner/english/texts/readingrunes.html), as they lined up best with the mythic echoes and meanings I wanted to convey in this chapter. 
> 
> Title lyric "Favourite Worst Nightmare"  
> from the song of the same title by the Arctic Monkeys.


	9. Sense of Judgement Seems to be Compromised

Tony tries to reply, but the words get stuck. Clearing his throat, he manages, "Uh, hi."

"Have you finished it yet?" the disembodied voice of Agent Phil Coulson asks.

"The tesseract gate?" Tony taps the nearest display to bring up the latest lab results. "Not quite, Bruce is still running tests." 

"We're running out of time. You need to get him off this planet."

"I'm quite aware--" Well that's a lie. He checks the calendar, but the days and dates lack context. He's lost track - not like that's unusual for him. "What's the rush? Thought you'd want to throw him in some shiny new high-tech vault and study him. Bug under glass and all that." 

"Containment lacks a proven success rate." 

Tony grimaces. "Point." 

"Are you stalling, Stark? Beacuse if you are, so help me, I will--"

"Taze me long-distance? Yeah, no." Tony makes a face. "Not stalling. Trust me. ... How's this working out for you, anyway, this whole ghost in the machine routine?"

Coulson sighs. "I'm disappointed. I thought you'd have figured it out by now."

"You know, I'm getting really tired of-- _Wait_. Figured out _what_ , exactly?" 

"Falling behind on your homework? Still disappointed."

Homework, Tony thinks, and his fingers move on the console almost before concious thought. Homework. Helicarrier. Hacked their databases. Weapons; distraction. Argument; distraction. Loki: major distraction. 

He'd never gotten around to looking at all the files Jarvis had cracked for him. But now he does, flipping through stacks of data until a project code jumps out at him and he stares at it in disbelief.

Code Name: Baldur's Gate  
Objective: Establish intergalactic battle-readiness of Earth through controlled alien invasion.

"Tell me this is bullshit," he says. 

"Would that make you feel better?"

"Tell me," Tony says, voice and temper rising, "that SHIELD - that you and Fury - were not really working with Loki behind our backs. Tell me this entire fucking war wasn't a giant set up."

"No can do. But if you keep reading, you'll get to the parts that are important. In the interest of saving the planet -"

"Again."

"Not again; still. You're not done yet. Not until you get Loki back to Asgard."

"And then what?"

"You want me to spell it out for you, genius? Or just give your AI time to have another stab at tracking my signal? It's not going to happen, by the way. You'll find me when I'm ready to let you find me."

Tony squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. "I want the truth, Phil."

Silence stretches long.

"It's right there in front of you, Tony," Coulson finally replies. "You've just got to put the pieces together. And then get the rest of the team on board."

Tony shakes his head. "Why me?" he asks, under his breath.

To his surprise, Coulson answers: "Because, for whatever fucked up reason, you're the only one Loki trusts. And we need him on our side."

"But off-planet."

"Yes. Catch up, quick. We're almost out of time."

The modem handshake grated against his ears again. And then there was only the silence of a dead line.

 _"Agent Coulson was correct; I was unable to determine his location,"_ Jarvis says, apologetically.

"Doesn't matter," Tony mutters. He has research to do. 

And that research makes his head hurt in ways that thermo-nuclear physics never could.

Here's the problem: it's puzzle boxes all the way down. Just like the tesseract itself. The tesseract which, incidentally, can't be directly used as a weapon because it's not exactly an energy source - it's a box of doors, or gateways, to other dimensions. And the constant opening and closing of those doors is what pushes energy into the tesseract AND is why they had to pour a ton of energy into it to keep particular doors open.

So. That's a box. 

But it's inside a metaphorical box - a conspiracy box, in which Loki actually landed on Earth once _before_ he came through the tesseract gate. And while he was on Earth, he found the tesseract (in SHIELD's hands, thanks dad), and studied it through Dr. Selvig (poor guy - used twice over), AND convinced Fury that Earth needed his help.

And this is the part that makes Tony's brain hurt, because it's riding that borderline between science and magic and the edges are all blurry. Fuzzy logic. Which he's okay with, really - hell, he used it to program Jarvis and the 'bots - but something about this rubs him the wrong way. 

Here's the facts, as far as he can piece together:

1 - Loki figured out how to travel between the Nine Realms without the Bifrost before it was destroyed.

That one's not hard to swallow. Thor can probably confirm it.

2 - According to Loki: when it was destroyed, and [Thor threw him off the bridge | he chose to fall], he fell past any number of alien races, whose attention was thus drawn to Midgard. Accidentally.

No accident, he's sure. Loki is Loki - a trickster [god], and he's playing the long game with an end goal beyond sight of mortals. But whether he meant it or not, he brought alien attention to Earth.

3 - The least troublesome of these (by Loki's estimation at the time) were the Chitauri.

 _Least? we are so fucked_ , Tony thinks, but keeps reading.

4 - Loki made himself known to SHIELD (read: Fury and Coulson) who decided that his ability to navigate between dimensions was a) worth studying and b) useful to them. 

And Tony can just imagine how _that_ must have gone, with Loki all silver-tongued prince charming, giving them just enough truth to tie them into his plans. Because, make no mistake, this is Loki's game.

But there's an implication here, that Fury _knew_ they couldn't figure out how to use the tesseract without Loki's help, AND was willing to barter (attempted) conquest of Earth for the knowledge. 

It's a good thing Fury was never trying to make friends of the Avengers, because wow. Way to alienate every-fucking-body.

But there's more. Of course there's more. This clusterfuck puzzle box has no bottom to hit.

5 - Between them, Loki and Fury concocted a plan to stage Loki and the Chitauri's invasion of Earth with the aim that:  
\- This would prove that Earth was not worth the trouble of an invasion by other alien races,  
and  
\- They would then ship Loki and the tesseract back to Asgard, thus diverting any remaining attention to a stronger intergalactic presence.

'Cuz that can't go horribly horribly wrong at all, can it? It totally wouldn't start an intergalactic pissing match in which everyone takes a shot at Earth because the Avengers are now the ones to beat, would it? No, of course not.

He groans. If Fury didn't see that, he's blind in both eyes. Or if Fury did see that, then... what's his game? What the fuck are he - and Loki - playing at?

And how much does Coulson know? How much - if it all - is he still working for SHIELD? Imprecations and implications, but he hadn't _said_... So, what, he'd just _let_ Loki nearly kill him? Was that according to plan (not a good plan, by the way), or had Loki gone rogue at that point? Was Fury using them all?

So many things left unsaid. 

_Fury lies_ , Tony thinks fiercely, darkly. _Fury fucking lies about everything._

But here's the problem, and it's sticking out like a big, red, glowing button to Tony: why the ever-loving fuck would Loki reveal _that much_ of his plan to SHIELD? Does not compute. Not unless all of this was the part of his game that he _wanted_ them to know, so that he could work on some other part _without_ their knowledge and intereference.

 _He knows that you know that we know that you know that he knows..._ Tony thinks, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Fucking nested puzzle boxes. 

He wants, very badly, to pass the whole mess off to Jarvis. He's tired, and his brain's already been stretched in way too many directions today. But Jarvis is using all the bandwidth and computational power he can pull from the building for other projects; adding this in would slow something else down. 

So instead, he pours himself a drink (only the second one he's had since he offered Loki one? ... huh... that's weird...) and wanders around the workshop. The whiskey burns a comfortable, familiar path down his throat, and he feels himself unwinding a little around it. 

He could just get drunk. Throw a big fuck you at Coulson (who's still alive! fucking hell!) and Fury, and Loki, and Steve, and....

Tony makes a face. He doesn't want to do that to Bruce. Or Pepper, who seems intent on being counted as one of the Avengers at some point in the near future. But the rest of them. 

But it wouldn't _solve_ anything. It wouldn't fix anything. He'd still wake up in the middle of this nightmare equation that keeps evolving faster than he can solve the variables. And everyone would be disappointed in him. Again. 

He's so fucking tired of their expectations. Impossible standards. Their belief that - no matter what he does - he's somehow better than what he's giving them. 

The glass is empty when he raises it again. He pours himself another. This is not getting drunk; this is just recreational. He's on his third glass when he realizes he already has the solution. Coulson gave it to him.

 _Get the team on board,_ he'd said. (Hah. Very funny. How fucking likely is that?) 

But here's the thing: under the right circumstances, Steve is a brilliant tactician; Natasha and Clint are spies, used to digging the truth out of people and bad data; Bruce is a genius in his own right, which includes solving weird puzzles like gamma radiation; and Thor? Well. The heir to Asgard can't be outright stupid; he must have some people skills. And he's the only one who can claim to know Loki. 

So the answer, then, is to dump this steaming hot mess in _their_ laps, and let _them_ decide if - or how - to shovel it. Because Tony is _done_ being the point man in this game, thankyouverymuch. 

Sitting back down at the table, Tony grabs the data and starts packing it into a mission brief. No commentary on his part: just the data as he's found it. The security footage of Loki killing him, the results of his Q&A session (okay, edited - they don't need to know about the runes and Tony's leap of intuition about them). Coulson's call. Everything - or at least everything _relevant_ (as decided by Tony) - that Jarvis hacked from the helicarrier while they were there. 

Let it all hit the fan. 

The only thing Tony cares about getting the team _on board_ with is pointing the finger at Fury. This mess is not Tony's fault, and he refuses to go down for it. 

He is, he realizes, more than tipsy by the time he's done. Not that he cares. "Pack it and stack it, Jarvis," he says, flinging the balled up brief into a folder. "Dossier copy for each Avenger, for tomorrow's meeting."

_"Very well, sir. Should I notify them of this meeting?"_

"Should you--" Tony stops, knocks back the last of his whiskey, and sets the empty glass down a little too carefully on the desk. "Avengers assemble and all that crap. First thing tomorrow. Important business to discuss. No excuses."

Tony rolls to his feet and walks a less-than-straight line to the door. He feels like he's just shoved a 50-ton slab of concrete off his back. So what if, maybe, it's passing the buck. Shifting the blame - and the responsibility. Shirking his duties as resident genius-billionaire-yada-yada. 

So fucking what.

Sometimes, the best option you have is merely another roll of the weighted dice. An attempt to better a poor hand rather than win a particular game.

Change what you can't fix, in the hopes that new variables will improve the situation.

Tony understands this; it's how he invented an arc reactor, a suit of iron, in a cave in Afghanistan. There was no good way out. There was only death, waiting. He chose to face it on his own terms. To throw the loaded dice because he had no other fucking choice except to die by his enemies' hands.

Fuck that noise.

And he figures - in one of those random jumps of intuition or logic or whatever - that Loki feels the same about what's awaiting him in Asgard. He just wasn't about to let Fury know that.

Fuck that noise.

"Jarvis," he says, "send Loki a message: I don't care how you do it--" he adds as Jarvis tries to interrupt. "Voice, video, Morse code -- okay, no, maybe not Morse. But hell, project it in runes on the wall for all I care. Just tell him... Yes."

There's a pause, and then Jarvis echoes, _"'Yes'...? Is that the sum total of the message, sir?"_

"Yep." Tony sweeps the lights in the room off with a gesture. "I need a shower. And make sure the Avengers - especially Thor - show up for the meeting."

_"As you wish, sir."_

Tony stops, one hand on the door handle, the other catching the frame. "Don't sound so damned resigned, J. I'm _fixing_ things."

_"As you say, sir."_

Tony's frown is fleeting; the smile that replaces it would only be recognizable as false to a handful of people. And even they would have to be paying attention to notice.

"Things can only go up from here," he says. Tempting fate? Hell yes. But he figures he's got a trickster god on his side.

Time to roll the fucking dice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there's a character missing from the tags. Uh, sorry? ;)
> 
> Title lyric: "Sense of judgement seems to be compromised"  
> from "Brainwash" by Simon Curtis


	10. Thinking of Escape (But the Place was Well-Guarded)

In the basement, Loki's sitting on the bed, staring into the middle distance, when he hears the camera in the ceiling make an unusual series of clicks. He draws his focus back from his far-ranging plans and looks instead at the bright beams of light - green and red and gold - playing against the wall.

They trace out three runic letters, carefully, painstakingly.

_Y. E. S._

Behind the muzzle, Loki smiles broadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I know, this isn't really a chapter. But it is two things: 1 - proof that I have not forgotten about this fic and that there is more to come, and 2 - fair warning that we are busting out of Tony's (navel-gazing) viewpoint. Soon. 
> 
> Chapter title lyric: "Thinking of escape but the place was well-guarded"   
> from "D is for Dangerous" by the Arctic Monkeys


	11. Call It A Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up loose ends and counting down the hours. Tony's not entirely alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, contains (a really miniscule amount of) smut. ;)

Tony's still in the shower when Bruce pings him.

"It's done. Tested. Functional. Ready to go," Bruce says, sounding giddy with success. Or maybe slightly delirious with lack of sleep. Hard to say.

Tony grins hard enough to make his cheeks ache, and rinses off more enthusiastically than he needs to. "That is the best news I've had all fucking week." Arbitrary date-time selection; he's not sure how long it's been since anything made him this happy. "Bruce, you are a genius. A fucking god-send. Name your price: I'll make it happen."

"Tony, are you--" Bruce says, like he's just realized Tony's in the shower. Because fuck, Jarvis isn't filtering the background noise, is he? Revenge of the AI kind. Bruce clear his throat. "Uh, you want to re-run these tests yourself?"

"Nah." Tony shuts off the water and reaches for a towel. "If you say it's good to go, I'm sure we're golden." He can't exactly blame Bruce for not rising to the offered bait, but he is a little disappointed that he got _nothing_ in return. "Time?" he asks Jarvis.

"One oh six am, sir."

"Food, Bruce? Dinner? Breakfast? Midnight snack? I can feed you after midnight right?"

"Uh, sleep?" 

Tony pouts. "Party pooper. Okay, okay, get some sleep. Breakfast in bed, how's that sound? We can -- I can do that. If you want. I mean. I don't want to impose--"

"You're the one who called the six am meeting, Tony," Bruce says, between a yawn and a chuckle. 

"Wha? Six? No. No, no, no, that is just not right. Jarvis, what the hell were you thinking?"

"'First thing tomorrow', you said, sir." Jarvis does not sound at all apologetic, and Tony winces, wondering just when the hell he became at odds with his own AI. This is far beyond Jarvis's usual sass and smartassness.

"You are cruel, Jarvis," Tony ssays, towelling himself off. "I'm heartbroken." 

"You keep saying this, sir. I do not think it means what you--"

"Enough," Tony says, mildly. "Get some sleep, Bruce. Raincheck on the breakfast, yeah? Big day tomorrow."

Bruce's yawn is audible because Jarvis wants it to be, Tony's sure. "G'night," he mumbles.

So there's a little less than five hours for Tony to kill, and he's not exactly sleepy, but he heads to bed anyway.

Laying there, in the dark, with the sheet pulled carelessly up over his otherwise naked body, Tony disengages the logical mental control he's had locked in place and lets his mind freewheel. He's tired of thinking, but he can't _stop_ , so instead he gives up the choice of what to think about.

In a move that surprises no one, and especially not Tony, his thoughts turn back to Bruce. And Bruce in the shower. Sleepy Bruce, curled up against him. Tony slides a hand down his abdomen and curls his fingers loosely around his dick. Stress relief. 

It could work. They could make it work. He _wants_ to make it work. He thinks Bruce does, too, but everything is so fragile right now. The edges are still sharp and raw, or at least freshly scabbed. It's going to take time, and Tony's never been a particularly patient man. He is, however, good at building - engineering - things. He just needs to solve the equations...

Except, you know, not _literally_. Because look where twelve percent got him. Pepper still loves him; this he does not doubt. She's put up with a lot of shit from him. But the twelve percent comment - a calculation meant entirely as a compliment on his part - was a last straw. Offhandedly devaluing her contributions, and then putting her through the 'your lover is a crazy self-sacrificing hero' routine _again_... well. Bad combination. He can see that now, and so he's not particularly surprised by the fallout.

Understanding doesn't make it hurt less. He doesn't want to think about that, either, but thoughts of one souring relationship spin into the next, and he can't stop himself from poking at his own sore spots.

"Jarvis?" He keeps his voice pitched low.

"Sir." The reply is utterly devoid of inflection. One corner of Tony's mouth turns down, just for a heartbeat. 

"Are you mad at me?"

A long silence fills the room. Tony holds one hand up over the arc reactor, making shadows shift and dance with his fingers.

"I am incapable--"

Tony snorts. "Bullshit. I was in your code today, Jarvis. I know perfectly well what you've evolved to be capable of."

"As you say, sir," Jarvis replied, stiffly. "It is not so much a matter of anger as..."

"Spit it out, J."

"To be frank, I am dis--"

"Mute." Tony rubs one hand over his face. "Swear to god if one more person tells me they're disappointed in me, I will truly apply myself to being the most disappointing superhero in the history of ever. I will _give_ them something to be fucking disappointed about. You have no idea the depths to which I have yet to sink. Just try me."

Jarvis doesn't answer because Tony's told him not to. Not that that has stopped him in the past. But tonight - this morning - Tony's apparently only capable of driving wedges between him and the rest of the world. It doesn't bode well for the team meeting.

And yeah, there are other words Jarvis might have been about to say -- distressed, discontent, dismayed, disturbed -- but Tony doesn't want to hear any of those either.

_Fuck it,_ he thinks. Throwing one arm over his eyes, Tony thinks about Bruce. The texture of his hair. The warmth of Bruce's chest against his back. The rough places on his palms - not the calluses Tony has, but no soft, smooth surfaces either. 

Tightening his grip on his cock, Tony replays sex with Bruce as he jerks himself off. Sensation and memory overwhelm the mechanics of the act and Tony groans, softly. He shifts his arm and blue light flares brighter around him for a heartbeat, a pulse, a throb.

The hands on his neck are pale and smooth and long-fingered. The body leaning over his is no longer dark and stocky. He's aware of the shift but he's too far gone to stop now.

Green eyes study him. A faint smile curls thin lips as Loki leans in...

His brain makes one last attempt to stumble through the equation: _arc reactor..._

Loki's fingers dig into his shoulders...

_(phallic) blue glow-stick of destiny..._

...teeth nip at his ear, his throat...

_lead box... piss-poor containment for alien tech_

And he almost has it, but...

Lips brush his. Pale hands curl tight but lovingly around his neck. He arches up, his hand pumping hard and fast.

Loki whispers his name. And he comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric "Call it a draw"   
> from _Some Nights_ by FUN.


	12. Highway to Hell or Shortcut in a Handbasket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting. The Avengers assemble for Tony's presentation. There's a decision or two to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long, long, long time ago... I promised you more fic. Less Tony navel-gazing. More action. Well, this would be booting the plot back into motion. 
> 
> It was cruel, to say the least, to leave you hanging on a climax, as it were. 
> 
> Life. What can I say. *sigh*
> 
> Anyway. Onwards. No promises.
> 
> #

"Avengers," Tony says, with an expansive gesture that takes in the whole table, "what you have before you is a dossier of information, some of which I have been withholding from you since the battle against the Chitauri. Some of you have found reason to question my sanity. Others, my commitment to the team. I am not unaware of the erratic and conflicted nature of my recent behaviour. I do not disagree that you have had valid reason for concern."

He pauses, looking at each of them in turn from behind the amber glass of his aviator shades. He's in business armor; impeccably tailored silver-grey suit, sharp black shoes, hair and goatee perfectly styled. Let them think him arrogant, over-bearing, an asshole, or worse. He is safe behind the wall of Tony Stark, _genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist_. He has set his course and is moving forward. 

"You have my apologies. Whether or not you choose to accept them is your own decision, of course. I ask only that you carefully review all the information contained within before making any final judgement on your next course of action with regards to my future interaction with you individually and as a team." 

He looks around the room again. Bruce: supportive. Steve: frowning, conflicted. Natasha: opaque as ever. Thor: looking physically present but mentally elsewhere. Clint: lifting one corner of the black leather folder to peek inside.

"Barton," Tony says, and Clint stops, but tilts an arrogant eyebrow at him. "Please have the common courtesy to wait until I've left the room."

This throws him, as Tony knew it would. Clint nods, and lets the cover slip from his fingers.

"Tony," Steve says, not quite meeting his eye. "I don't think all this is necessary."

Tony spreads his hands, palms up and open. "With all due respect, Captain Rogers, I do. And I must warn you, you may find the contents graphic and disturbing." Not as graphic and disturbing as waking up in a cave with a hole in your chest and a car battery plugged into it, granted, but death - intimate death - is always disturbing. "I will take your questions after you've all had a chance to review and discuss the best course of action." 

Folding his hands together, he gives them a slight bow. "Thank you for your time and consideration." And with that, he leaves the room. 

#

The door closes behind Tony and the remaining Avengers look at each other before opening the dossier folders. There is silence as they review, heavy and uncomfortable. The tap of fingers against touchscreens seems obnoxiously loud.

"Jesus," Steve breathes, looking up from the reading. He catches Bruce's eye across the table. "Did you know about this? The... death part?"

Bruce shakes his head. "Not until the other night."

Clint grimaces. "Figures; Stark finally learns to keep his mouth shut the one time when he should be talking." 

"But this Loki thing, and then the nuke... no wonder he's been..." Steve looks at the door, then back at the team. 

Bruce makes a quiet sound of agreement. 

It's not the staring down death part that rattles them; they're all familiar with that. That's status quo. No, it's realizing that Tony had faced that moment of waking up, of coming back from the dead, with all the weight and mind-fuck that carried, not once, but four times that day.

And never said a word. 

Steve thinks about what it was like, waking up in a room that was just _wrong_ when he'd been sure he was dead.

Bruce thinks about what it was like at first, when the Other Guy would break out, take over. The fear of never being able to regain control. The darkness, the blackouts, the destruction, the guilt. Death in tiny increments; denied death in total.

Natasha thinks, fleetingly, of every time she's woken up as someone else, every time she's doubted life and death and reality. Always reality. Keep moving forward, because it's the only option.

Clint thinks about Loki, and what it was like to be unmade and remade. Of fighting himself, and following orders. Sacrifices and consequences and choices. And the fact that one of those choices involves not having snuck into the basement to put an arrow through Loki's eye, like he'd promised himself he would, given the chance.

And then the four of them look at Thor.

"Loki has much to answer for," he rumbles. No one misses the fact that he has not said "my brother".

Bruce looks away first, lips pressed into a thin line as he flips to the next screen. "Oh," he says, and adjusts his glasses. "That's just the tip of the iceberg."

Natasha is the only one who's still watching Thor, the only one who sees his expression tighten just that much more into misery before he catches her eye and smooths his features.

Unfortunate metaphors aside, Bruce is right. What Tony's laid out for them is so much bigger and so much deeper that they almost - almost - forget about Tony's deaths in the face of what's still threatening the planet.

"I'm going to kill him," Natasha mutters. "Jarvis? Monitors, please." Grabbing the data with both hands, she pulls it out into a full-screen view as Jarvis lowers the glass panes from the ceiling. 

Bruce gets to his feet as well, and they sub-divide the packets into groups on either side of two panes. 

Steve watches, his gaze flicking up and down as he tracks their changes. "You think this was really Coulson?" he asks. 

"Yeah," Clint replies. "It's him." Natasha nods. 

"Do you think he's still working for SHIELD?" 

"Do you think we are?" Natasha asks, not looking at Steve.

Bruce looks at her sharply, his hand stopped in mid-air. "Avengers first?" he asks, his tone as mild as ever.

Complicated loyalties tangle them all together. Wires on a time-bomb. 

Natasha straightens up and looks him square in the eye. "I can't answer that in any way you'll believe without question, can I?"

Bruce looks down, his fingers falling to the edges of the leather dossier cover. "No. No, I don't..."

"Team," Steve says, drawing everyone's attention. "The primary objective here is our decision about Iron Man. Do we trust him? Do we keep him on the team?" He looks at each of them in turn. "Are we still a team?" 

It's Clint, sitting with one hip on the table and rolling an arrowhead around on his palm, who answers for all of them. "It's seven o'clock in the goddamn morning. On a Saturday. We don't have a mission. But we're here. Because someone said 'assemble'."

"Indeed," Thor agrees. 

"That someone was Jarvis," Natasha observes. But the quirk of her lips betrays her amused agreement.

Steve's eyes warm, but he doesn't smile. "Right. So. Show of hands on the Tony issue, then. Is he still in?"

Clint rolls his eyes. "What is this, Team Kindergarten?" But he tosses the arrowhead in the air, raises one hand, and catches it with the other. 

Bruce's glasses dangle from between his upraised fingers. Natasha raises her hand as well. 

Thor swings his arm - and Mjolnir - into the air. "The Man of Iron is a worthy warrior. I would trust him with my life. And he... has shown genuine concern for my brother." 

"Wait, what?" Clint says, twisting to face Thor. "Are you saying he gives a shit about what happens to --"

"To Loki?" Natasha overrides him smoothly.

"Yes." Thor frowns at them. "He asked me for the history of Loki's fall. He offered to help... to 'extract the cats' I believe is what he said."

"He didn't bother putting _that_ in the report," Clint growls.

Natasha flicks a sideways look at him, but turns most of her attention to the data. "You think Stark is compromised?"

Clint flips the arrowhead again. "He thinks the arc reactor blocked Loki's magic. But we don't know for sure. And that damn sceptre of his is still in the building, isn't it?"

There's a moment of stunned silence broken by Jarvis asking, "If I may be so bold?"

Steve nods. "Sure, Jarvis. Go right ahead."

"Although Master Stark's behaviour has been... regrettable... since his encounter with Loki, there are no significant anomalies in his response patterns to suggest that it is anything other than a typical reaction for him."

"So you're saying Stark's an ass because he's an ass, not because Loki made him that way?" 

"Your assessment is correct, Agent Barton," Jarvis replies with a note wry humor.

"Well. That's.... reassuring, I guess," Steve says. "Bruce? You want to go find Tony and tell him the good news?"

Setting his glasses aside, Bruce shakes his head. "I think you better be the one to do that, Cap."

Captain America doesn't say 'why me?', but everyone can see it written on Steve's face for a heartbeat. "Okay," he says. "Tasha?"

She nods, flicking a data parcel between screens to Bruce. "Pinning down Fury's game plan is going to take a while. It'd help to know what Tony thinks of all this."

Clint bounces to his feet. "I'm going to find Coulson," he declares, as if it's the most obvious course of action. 

"Take Thor with you," Steve says, heading for the door.

"What? No. Why?"

Steve glances back over his shoulder. "Because until we're clear on what we're up against, no one goes anywhere outside the Tower alone." He jerks a thumb at Thor. "And besides, he can fly."

"He has a point," Natasha says, in the silence that follows Steve's departure.

"I do not _fly_ , exactly," Thor protests. 

"Able to fling yourself long distances with a hammer counts as close enough in this case," Clint concedes. "C'mon. Trail's already cold."

Thor perks up noticeably at the prospect of hunting something. 

"You think that'll work?" Bruce asks, once the door's closed behind them.

"If Coulson wants it to." Natasha shrugs one shoulder. "You realize if Tony goes to Asgard, it might be a one-way trip."

Bruce nods without looking at her. 

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?" 

She studies him, her face as expressionless as his. "Huh," she finally mutters, "didn't know Stark's poor life choices were contagious."

Bruce doesn't so much as twitch in response.


	13. Highway to Hell (Redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony loves it when a plan comes together. Like this one does. Sort of. Well. It gets a passing grade anyway.

"Yes, Pep. Yes, Jarvis is most definitely on it. Doing the design as we speak. No, not just saying that to shut you up. I am being completely sincere and straightforward. Promise." Catching sight of Steve walking into the kitchen, Tony rolls his eyes at his phone. "Listen, gotta go. Avengers stuff. You know. Yep. Okay. Later." Getting to his feet, he sets an empty espresso cup on the counter and tucks his phone into his pocket. "Tell me the good news, o captain, my captain."  
  
"You're on probation," Steve says, but this time, Tony catches the quirk of his lips that betrays his sly humour.  
  
"Really?" Tony's eyebrows climb his forehead. "You're putting your eyes-in-the-sky, your wrath-from-on-high--"  
  
"We still have Thor."  
  
"Blondie? Oh that is so not even a fair comparison. You just try getting him to out-fly some space bugs in a tunnel and see how that goes. Then get back to me. I'll wait. Got important, genius stuff to do in the meantime," he says, with an airy wave of his hand.  
  
They stare each other down until Steve relents and cracks a smile. "I kid. The team wants you back."  
  
"Of course they do." Tony sniffs and moves to step past him. "Your poker face is terrible, Cap. Remind me to beat you soundly at our next gaming night."  
  
"Ri~ight. I'll do that," Steve says. "Gaming night?"  
  
"You're a genius: we should totally start one. Whaddaya think about Wednesdays? Breaks up the week nicely, I say. I'll tell the team."  
  
Steve intercepts his attempt to leave the room. "Tony."  
  
"What?" Tony frowns at him. "Are you going to lecture me again? Because, really, I think that ship has sailed, Rogers. I had reasons - legitimate reasons - which have been spelled out simply enough for even you to understand--"  
  
"Tony." Steve catches his elbow, Tony shakes him off, and for a moment, they might as well be back in the lab on the helicarrier for all the progress they've made. "Why are you so _hostile_? What did I do...? I thought we'd figured out how to work together, that you trusted me --"  
  
"I trust you on the battlefield, _Cap_." Tony folds his arms across his chest. "You're an excellent tactician, I'll grant you that."  
  
"But?" Steve prods.  
  
Tony inhales. Exhales. Decides, again, _fuck it_ , and lets the words come spilling out.  
  
"You had _one job_ , Cap. One," he snaps. "Pull the damn lever when I asked. And if you had managed that, I wouldn't have had to ditch the Mark-VI! I wouldn't have had to face Loki unarmed! I wouldn't have had to rely on my not-one-hundred-percent ready new prototype! Which, thankfully, worked, but not until _after_ I'd become a sidewalk pancake."  
  
And wow, where did all that bitterness come from? He hadn't even thought about the near -- very near -- disaster that had been his attempt to manually restart the helicarrier's engine. Had put it out of his mind because, yeah, he'd ended up back at the tower, peeling the battered suit off as Loki watched, and things had gone to hell in a handbasket from there thanks to Loki. But apparently it had been chewing at his subconcious. Apparently (unfairly) he blamed Cap for not having his back, for being the weak link in the chain of events that had put him face to face with Loki.  
  
It's irrational, and having thought it through, he knows it. But now he's gone and thrown it in Cap's face. Left it hanging there, ugly and raw between them. No way he can take it back - even if he wanted to, which he isn't sure he does.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Steve's face tightens as he presses his lips together in a hard, thin line. There are creases at the corners of his eyes, and they're not the happy, smiley kind. He inhales, hard, and Tony thinks, _oh shit, here we go..._  
  
"You're right," Steve says. Not grudgingly. Not bitterly. Like he believes it. Like he's manning up to a failure on his part. Tony just blinks at him, nonplussed. "I'm sorry. You trusted me, and I let you down. Doesn't matter how many guys were shooting at me, or that I nearly fell to my death because I couldn't keep my footing."  
  
Tony grimaces. Because, yeah, okay, there's that. And he _knows_ , when he's not being completely self-centred, that Steve did the best he could with a bad situation. So of course Steve's just proven he's the bigger man. Again.  
  
Uncurling his fists, he looks off to Steve's left. Says, "Well. Okay. Yeah. Thanks for that." It's not gracious; hell, it's not even coherent, but it's the best he can do right now.  
  
He risks a glance up at Steve and finds his features have smoothed out a little. Progress.  
  
"So," Steve says, "I won't ask if we're good now, because that would be stupid. But if we're going to work as a team to deal with this Loki-SHIELD thing - and you seem to be implying that we need to, that you want to work with us - then I need to know that you're at least willing to _try_ to trust me. Give me another chance to prove myself."  
  
Tony tips his head to one side and considers him.  
  
"Here's the thing," Steve says, before Tony can reply. "I know you hate the military -- the machinery and bureaucracy of it," he says, over top of Tony's inarticulate protest. "But that's only part of it. I think I know exactly why we keep antagonizing each other."  
  
"Oh?" Tony says, with a sarcastic tilt of an eyebrow. "Enlighten--"  
  
"Howard."  
  
Sucker-punch. Tony curls in on himself a little, reflexively. "Really?" he says, covering his flinch with a sneer. "You want to make this about my _father_? I don't think so, Cap. We are not having this conversation, not right now, maybe not ever." He pivots on one heel and manages all of a half-step before Steve's hand wraps around his bicep.  
  
"Tony. Tony, listen to me. Please."  
  
He hasn't really got a choice because Steve's not letting go. Not this time. And super-soldier strength versus Tony's arm isn't a contest.  
  
"Talk," he says. "But make it snappy. Bet the team's already thinking we skipped out on them. And I'd really rather not add _that_ kind of speculation to the hot mess you're throwing at the fan."  
  
"Jesus, Tony." Steve steps around to face him. "Your dad was a jerk."  
  
Tony blinks at him.  
  
"He was a jerk, and I respected him, and I hated his guts. And yes, when you're at your worst, you do remind me of him, a lot, except -- let me finish -- except you're also _better_ than him. Smarter. Kinder. More insightful." Steve finally lets go and smooths Tony's sleeve out. "So stop assuming I'm comparing you to him and coming down on his side, against you, okay? Right here and now, you - Tony Stark, with or without your stock epithets - you are what matters. Not ghosts from my past. You. And us. The Avengers. Right?"  
  
Tony swallows hard and jerks his head in a nod. The truth is that he hasn't heard - hasn't processed - much of anything Steve's said after the 'remind me of him' part where Tony tried to interrupt. The rest? Does not compute. So he's shoved it on the backburner where it can simmer until he's drunk enough to do more than squint at the whole conversation sideways. Clearing his throat, he says, "Right. So. Good. Glad we had this talk. Cleared things right up. Let's get back to work, shall we?"  
  
Without waiting for an answer, he strides toward the meeting room. As he nears the doors he says, "Jarvis?" and the crashing strains of AC/DC fill the air, travelling with and around him.  
  
_hey Momma, look at me_  
_I'm on my way to the promised land_  
_I'm on a highway to hell_  
_highway to hell..._  
  
The heavy doors to the meeting room swing open and Tony bounces in. "Hey, team! Did you miss--"  
  
"Mute," Natasha says, not looking at him.  
  
Tony pouts, but doesn't override the command. "Party pooper." Ignoring Steve walking in behind him, he scans the room. "So, we're... up one and down two. Hunh. Net gain of negative one. Not good. What the hell, Rogers?"  
  
"Clint and Thor went to look for Coulson."  
  
Tony sighs as he grabs a box of data on the screen and unpacks it, spilling tesseract-bright light over the table. "Cuz that's useful."  
  
"Keeps them out of trouble," Natasha points out. "Or would you rather deal with a bored Hawkeye?"  
  
"Um, no, pass. Thanks and all, but one hole in me is enough." He flicks the cube at Bruce. "This ready to go? We need Thor back so we can head out this afternoon."  
  
"Yes--"  
  
"Wait, what?"  
  
"We?"  
  
Tony claps one flat palm against the top of his closed fist, then spreads both hands. "Why are you all so surprised by this? We need to send the Aesir back, ASAP. That was the plan, right? And as Cap said we're all to be Boy Scout buddies--"  
  
"You were listening?" Steve frowns.  
  
"What? No, I _said_ 'as Cap'd say' - like you _would_ say, if you had, which I don't know if you did or not, but it sounds like something you'd say, so let's roll with it--"  
  
"Bullshit." Steve doesn't advance around the curve of the table, but suddenly he seems twice as large and threatening. Definitely above the 'angry bees' level of threatening. "You - Jarvis - was listening. You knew --"  
  
"No." Tony holds up both hands, warding off the words. "No, I-- Well, okay, maybe, yes, he did--"  
  
Static crackles.  
  
_"We got him!"_ Clint chirps.  
  
_"We are going to have words, Stark, Rogers,"_ Coulson adds.  
  
"ETA?" Natasha asks before Tony or Steve can get a word in.  
  
_"'bout forty-five--"_  
  
_"A couple of hours,"_ Coulson says, _"because Barton will pay at least passing respect to the posted speed limits. I'm sending Thor back first so you can get on with returning the prisoner to Asgard."_  
  
"Great!" Tony beams. "We'll be ready."  
  
Static again as the signal cuts out.  
  
"What is this 'we' business?" Bruce demands.  
  
"Is it too early? Do we need more coffee in here? Jarvis - where's the coffee service? These people are still asleep on their feet. 'We', in this case, is obviously the Avengers--"  
  
"No."  
  
Tony arches one eyebrow above the rim of his glasses. Behind the facade, though, his stomach clenches, because Bruce's posture - upright, open, and stiff - screams confident anger. He's got every right to be pissed off at Tony's diversions, and he knows it, and even if he's not about to bust out all green, he's not afraid to let Tony see that he's owning this anger.  
  
Tony takes a deep breath, raises placating hands, and turns to face Bruce directly. "I intend to accompany Thor and Loki to Asgard," he says.  
  
Steve mutters something that Tony can't quite catch.  
  
Bruce rocks back on his heels. "Why?" His posture softens, shoulders curving again.  
  
"Because..." It all seemed perfectly clear last night, but right now, the words have abandoned him.  
  
"Because," Natasha says quietly, "someone may need to bring Loki back to Earth. After he's faced the Aesir."  
  
"Yes, that. That, see--" Tony frowns at her. "How did you--"  
  
"It's actually pretty obvious when you put the pieces in the right order." She shrugs. "None of you were looking at this critically enough."  
  
"That's SHIELD's plan?" Steve asks.  
  
Nat shakes her head. "No, it's Loki's as far as I can see."  
  
Steve folds his arms across his chest. "Then I should go."  
  
"With all due respect, Rogers, you can't fix the tesseract device on the fly if it needs recalibrating," Tony says.  
  
Steve's jaw clenches, and he jerks his chin toward Bruce. "Then Banner."  
  
"No," Bruce says. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I really don't think, ah, inter-dimensional travel would be a good idea. Really."  
  
Tony nods. "Clint would sooner shoot Loki than protect him. And Thor probably needs to stay home for a while. So--"  
  
"Widow?"  
  
She studies each of them in turn, long enough that Bruce shifts his feet and Tony has to fight down the urge to make faces at her just to try and provoke some kind of reaction.  
  
"Loki's chosen Tony," she says, finally. "Until we are sure we understand his plan, I think we'd better just roll with it. But Stark? You are not, under any circumstances, to consider this a one-way trip."  
  
"Pft, I don't." Tony's lips twist in a sour smile. But in the back of his mind, a lightbulb goes off, and he realizes why _Steve_ was making such a big deal out of having that conversation. Interesting. "I'm taking the suit."  
  
"You don't even know if it'll work in Asgard."  
  
"Any sufficiently advanced technology," Bruce murmurs. Picking up his glasses, he turns back to the data on the screens.  
  
"Yeah, that," Tony agrees. "Either it'll work, or I'll make it work, or I'll build something new. That Destroyer thing was pretty impressive; bet I could improve on it."  
  
Steve sighs.  
  
  



	14. Maybe Just This Once, Let Me Keep This One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the pieces fall into place, everything moves too quickly.

Tony and Bruce head to the lab to do final testing and calibration on the tesseract device. It's really been a rush job and Bruce isn't entirely happy about it, even if Tony is confident it's "good enough" (in a fly by the seat of your pants way). 

They start off working at separate tables, the space between them as deliberate as the silence. It's Bruce who eventually drifts back within Tony's reach, passing data over to his screen, stretching tentative fingers to touch shared modules. 

Iron filings to Tony's magnet, Bruce thinks. It's almost painful, this attraction, this hunger he has for Tony's presence. He shouldn't... he really shouldn't want anything. Nothing in his life is constant. Nothing but the anger. The Other Guy. 

And leaving people behind.

Tony doesn't say anything, but when Bruce steps inside the bounds of his personal space to touch the screen directly in front of him, he rests one hand lightly on the small of Bruce's back. Just for a moment. 

And they both relax.

A little while later, as the last of the tests runs, Tony quietly says, "I'm sorry."

Bruce's hand stops in mid-air, every nerve frozen for a heartbeat. Tony touches his fingers, lightly enough that it could be accidental, except they both know it's deliberate. Taking a deep breath, Bruce finishes the motion and shakes his head. "It's fine," he says. *Liar.* "Just stress relief. I get--"

"No. I mean, yes, that too, but that's not what I was apologizing for." Tony pivots around him, shoves the monitor aside and hops up onto the desk. 

His posture is an echo, an invitation, but Bruce hangs back, just beyond his knees. 

"I am sorry," Tony says, deliberately, trying to catch and hold Bruce's gaze, "that I didn't take the time to explain. To warn you. About... solving the puzzle and going to Asgard."

"Oh. That." Bruce nods and looks at his hands. "Yeah, Natasha and I figured that out. The one-way trip thing."

Tony huffs. "It is not. I have no intention--"

"Tony."

Tony raises one hand, but lets it fall back to his thigh without reaching for Bruce. "I am not doing this to get away from you."

"I didn't think you were."

"Bruce..."

He looks at Tony, his chin still tipped down, posture angled away.

Tony leans forward, almost overbalancing himself off the edge of the desk, and grabs Bruce's wrist. Hauling him forward, Tony hooks his legs around Bruce's and loops his arms around his waist. "Don't leave while I'm gone," he says, the words muffled against Bruce's chest.

Bruce goes absolutely still, barely even breathing. The need to run has been burning beneath his skin. Except for that night, with Tony, it's been hard to sleep more than an hour at a time. SHIELD knows where he is; the military knows where he is; he needs to go, go, go...

But what good is running, really? If Natasha is to be believed (and she is a consummate liar, but the Other Guy has a way of *knowing* sometimes), then SHIELD knew where he was all along. He cannot be invisible anymore.

And yet his body physically rebels at the thought of any phrase that includes the words "I'll stay." He cannot bring himself to say it. 

So he compromises. (He always compromises, with himself, if no one else.)

"I'll be here when you get back," Bruce says.

Tony slides forward, onto his feet, and for a moment they are a confusing tangle of limbs. It's so ridiculous Bruce can't help but smile. Tony's hands slide up into his hair as they settle themselves and Bruce leans in to kiss him without even thinking about it. 

Iron to magnet.

 

When they come up for air, Tony says, a little breathlessly, "Bruce. Babe. Not a one-way trip. Really. I need to do this." 

Bruce tilts his head to the side and meets Tony's eye curiously. "Why?"

Tony takes a deep breath. "Because I've seen what's out there... Because I carried death into the stars... and I let go. I let it all go. And fell, surrounded by... by the universe! Not the theoretical abstract, but the actual, literal, universe. I felt small... and then I was nothing.

"Until you guys -- you and the Big Guy -- you brought me back."

Bruce rocks back on his heels at that, but Tony doesn't let him go.

"I need to see what else is out there. That it's not just stars and death. I need to *know* --" He stops himself and shakes his head.

"You always need to know," Bruce says quietly. "You need to *feel*. Live."

_Strangling. Neck cracking. Hands gone limp. No air. No JARVIS. No nothing to hold. Only Death._

Tony shivers. "Yeah."

"Okay," Bruce says, and this time, he means it. They are okay. 

Or at least the they’re both pointing toward the same pole.

 

The test run beeps as it finishes, distracting them both from any further embarrassment. And if either of them suspects non-coincidental timing on Jarvis's part, neither of them says anything. 

Bruce steps aside. Tony lets him go and reaches for the monitor. 

"Huh. That's interesting," Tony says, moving closer. His finger brushes the screen and the simulation explodes. Bright blue sparks fly in all directions, showering over Tony as he all-but jumps away from it.

"How?" Bruce exclaims. "How did you... I have been trying for the past three days -- we've ALL been trying -- to make this thing react badly, and you... you just--"

Tony brushes ghostly bits off his face. "Just lucky, I guess," he mumbles. His hand slides down to rest over the arc reactor. "Low-grade superpower - tendency to attract explosions."

Bruce isn't really paying attention; he's checking the data, the measurements, trying to figure out why the tesseract just blew up in Tony's face.

"It's fine," Tony says. Locating the nearest stool, he sinks down onto it. His hands are trembling. Folding his arms across his chest, he tucks his hands into his armpits. 

"It's really not."

"As long as I don't touch the tesseract myself, it'll be fine," Tony insists. "Probably a power surge from the arc reactor. You couldn't have predicted it."

"I damn well could have. *Should* have. What if you have to recalibrate?"

Tony stares at the ceiling. "I'll figure something out. It'll be fine."

"No. Damnit, Tony. This is not safe. We have to postpone--"

"No!" Tony pushes back to his feet. "We are not putting this off for one more goddamn hour! I want this bullshit over with!"

"You're not leaving if you're in danger of blowing the fuck up in Asgard!"

There's a resonance to Bruce's voice that shouldn't be there, and they can both hear it. They stare each other down, mirrored in clenched fists and taut limbs.

"Two things," Tony says, mildly. "One - I have blown the fuck up in many places already. From Afghanistan to outer-space. It hasn't killed me yet and I don't expect Asgard to be an exception."

Bruce inhales. Exhales. Rolls his shoulders back. 

"Two - Jarvis? Assessment, please."

_"My analysis suggests a statistically improbable anomaly in the rendered data that coincided with a momentary excess static-electric charge, resulting in the appearance of explosive interaction."_

"Not the tesseract?" Bruce asks roughly.

_"There is no logic by which I can prove that the tesseract is a threat to Master Stark, Dr. Banner."_

Bruce scrubs at his scalp, feeling like he's shrinking inside his skin. 

"Okay?" Tony asks.

"Okay," Bruce replies. "But I'm still not happy about it."

"Duly noted." Tony's smile is lopsided, but genuine. "Neither I am, to be honest." His gaze flicks to the door, then back. "Static electricity? Does that mean what I think it means?"

_"Yes: Thor has returned."_

#

Thor's return drops the Avengers almost instantaneously into the controlled chaos of a SHIELD operation. Coulson, with his usual deadly efficiency, had everything orchestrated and push-button ready. Despite his absence, agents swarm the tower, ready for the prisoner transfer.

"Where are we going?" Steve asks.

Tony and Bruce look at each other. Tony shrugs. "Central Park," Bruce says, almost apologetically.

"Central... tell me you're joking." Steve's frown carves deep grooves in his forehead.

"Nope. Sorry, Cap." Tony, on the other hand, doesn't sound apologetic in the least. "We need a wide-open space that we - well, SHIELD - can secure. And I'm pretty sure Coulson's got that underway already."

"But the park," Steve protests.

"There shouldn't be any damage," Bruce says, with an annoyed glance at Tony. "It won't be like opening the Bifrost in New Mexico."

Steve looks at Thor, who shrugs. 

"And if there is, Stark Industries will pay for the repairs," Tony adds.

Steve sighs. "Let's just get this over with."

Tony leads the way to the garage, where the team separates into various vehicles. Tony walks over to one of his sportscars, but stops when Bruce doesn't follow him. 

"What?"

Bruce tips his chin at the car. "Who's going to drive that back here?"

Tony looks at the car, then at Bruce. "You?"

"Uh, no. Thanks. Really. But no." 

Tony frowns. "Happy, then."

Bruce folds his hands together and looks away. He shrinks in on himself a little, becoming the small and nervous doctor. Tony grimaces and steps away from the car. Obviously Bruce is not going to ride in a SHIELD vehicle unless forced to.

"We'll take the Rolls." 

They climb into the car with Happy at the wheel and join the convoy of vehicles rolling up out of the tower's underground parking. Bruce stares out the window, his fingers tracing the seams and buttons on the cuffs of his jacket. Tony slouches in the seat, running and re-running calculations in his head, wishing he had more data (is gravity even the same on Asgard? who the fuck knows...) and more time. More time to generate more data. 

They ride in silence, because there's nothing left to say that wouldn't turn into an argument, or worse. 

"You think Coulson'll show?" Tony asks, as they pull up at the park.

Bruce's fingers tighten and tug down his cuff. He shrugs.

"He said we were going to have words," Tony continues, "hard to do when I've been beamed up." 

"Tony..."

They look at each other. The words die on Bruce's lips and he just shakes his head. Tony quirks one eyebrow at him and almost smiles. 

"Show time," he says, quietly.

#

They join the others in SHIELD's dance of coordinated chaos. The coffin-shaped box containing Tony's armor is rolled into place. Thor leads Loki, still handcuffed and muzzled and not looking particularly perturbed by it, to their designated position. Tony joins them, and the other Avengers collect in a loose circle around them. 

"Are you certain--" Thor begins, one last time.

Tony cuts him off with a sharp hand motion and an annoyed tilt of his chin. "You are not going alone." He feels Loki's gaze on him, but refuses to look away from Thor.

"Very well." 

Bruce hands them the tesseract in its containment device and steps back. There's nothing left to say, so Thor simply twists the lock open on the device.

Blue-white light streaks outward and upward, washing over the three travellers.

A few moments later, the space is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric "Maybe just this once, let me keep this one"   
> from [_All Alright_ by FUN](http://play.google.com/music/preview/T4v63knis24tsiovzxh3pvvaqju?lyrics=1&u=0#).


End file.
